The Girls of St. Cyprian's: A Tale of School Life
by Angela Brazil · English · Gutenberg #37161 · 438,916 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Girls of St. Cyprian's: A Tale of School Life
Author: Angela Brazil
Illustrator: Stanley Davis
Release date: August 22, 2011 [eBook #37161]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/37161
Credits: Produced by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan and the Online
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GIRLS OF ST. CYPRIAN'S: A TALE OF SCHOOL LIFE ***
Produced by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
The Girls of St. Cyprian's
A Tale of School Life
BY ANGELA BRAZIL
Author of "The School by the Sea," "The Leader of the Lower School," "The
Youngest Girl in the Fifth," &c. &c.
_Illustrated by Stanley Davis_
BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED
LONDON GLASGOW AND BOMBAY
[Illustration: "'SO I'VE WON, EVEN WITHOUT YOUR VOTE,' SAID LOTTIE TO
MILDRED WITH A SPICE OF TRIUMPH IN HER TONE"]
Contents
I. THE UNITED SCHOOLS ALLIANCE 9
II. ST. CYPRIAN'S COLLEGE 23
III. THE STORY OF A VIOLIN 35
IV. CONCERNS VA 49
V. AN ADVERTISEMENT COMPETITION 61
VI. A CHANCE MEETING 73
VII. A SCHOOL EISTEDDFOD 85
VIII. ST. CYPRIAN'S VERSUS TEMPLETON 102
IX. THE STUDENTS' CONCERT 117
X. CHANGES 131
XI. THE TOWERS 142
XII. AT TIVERTON KEEP 154
XIII. A COLONIAL COUSIN 165
XIV. MILDRED'S CHOICE 173
XV. MONITRESS MILDRED 190
XVI. THE AUTUMN TERM 204
XVII. THE ALLIANCE EXHIBITION 218
XVIII. TWELFTH NIGHT REVELS 233
XIX. WINTER SPORTS 247
XX. A MUSICAL SCHOLARSHIP 262
XXI. HARVEST 277
Illustrations
"'SO I'VE WON, EVEN WITHOUT YOUR VOTE,' SAID
LOTTIE TO MILDRED WITH A SPICE OF TRIUMPH IN HER
TONE" _FRONTISPIECE_ 21
TANTIE TELLS MILDRED THE HISTORY OF HER
VIOLIN, WHICH IS A VERY OLD AND VALUABLE ONE MADE
BY STRADIVARIUS HIMSELF 39
HERR HOFFMANN TELLS MILDRED THAT SHE IS TO PLAY
AT THE PUBLIC RECITAL IN THE TOWN HALL 80
MILDRED IS MET BY HER UNCLE, SIR DARCY LORRAINE,
AT THE STATION 143
"'HI! DANGER!' HE YELLED TO DICCON, WHO WAS ABOUT
TO START DOWN THE TRACK" 253
MILDRED IS TOLD THAT SHE HAS WON THE THREE YEARS'
SCHOLARSHIP IN THE BERLIN CONSERVATOIRE 276
THE GIRLS OF ST. CYPRIAN'S
CHAPTER I
The United Schools Alliance
"If there's one slack, slow business in this wide world," said Bess
Harrison, stretching her arms in the exigencies of a combined sigh and
prodigious yawn, "it's coming back to school after the Easter holidays.
Tame isn't the word for it! It's absolute milk and water. September
start is some sport, because one's generally in a fresh form, and there
are always changes; and even January is fairly lively; but now! Why,
there's scarcely even a new girl to make a small excitement, and
altogether it's about as stale as beginning again after half-term
week-end."
"Worse," agreed Maggie Orton. "At half-term one hasn't had time to get
out of things. One feels a little sorry for oneself, but that's all. But
when one's had nearly three weeks off it's far harder to fall into
harness again."
"And the burden's heavier!" urged Mona Bradley. "I've just told Miss
Pollock so. We don't start in September with such a grind. No! They keep
laying straw after straw on our unfortunate backs, here an exercise and
there a problem, or some bit of extra prep., till in the aggregate it's
more than mortal girl can bear! We're victims of over-pressure--that's
what it is!"
"You don't look a victim--with cheeks like two streaky red American
apples!" laughed Maudie Stearne.
"Appearances are deceptive, my good child! You'll often find the thin,
wiry sort of folk can stand more than the nice, plump, rosy ones. As for
me, I contend that this special botany class is the last straw. The
camel's back is bending visibly, and I mean to throw over either Latin
or music."
"Not music, surely!" said Kitty Fletcher. "Why, you'd miss half the fun
of the school! You'd be out of all concerts and choral meetings, and you
needn't flatter yourself the Dramatic would take you up instead. No,
you'd just have to squat with the kids, and act audience, and I don't
think that's much in your line, Mona Bradley! You're not the one to
covet a back seat, as a rule."
"Why, of course I didn't intend to be out of the concerts," protested
Mona plaintively. "I only thought I might drop my lessons and give up
practising for a while--just during the tennis season, you know."
"Oh! I dare say! And you think Miss Jackson will let you play at
recitals when you've never practised a note? Happy are the ignorant,
indeed! Don't you know she wouldn't allow Margaret Hales a part in that
trio, when poor old Mag had only been away ten days with 'flu'? As for
putting on a girl who actually wasn't having lessons, why, the idea's
preposterous! No, take your granny's advice, and knock off maths, or
chemistry, or anything you can induce Miss Cartwright to let you throw
overboard, but stick tight to your piano."
"True, O Queen! Yours are the words of wisdom, I admit. It's the
half-hour's practising before breakfast that I so particularly loathe
and abhor."
"Well, now the mornings are light, you needn't growl!"
"What a Mentor you are! You'll be quoting Dr. Watts to me next:
"'Tis the voice of the sluggard, I heard him complain,
'You have waked me too soon, I must slumber again!'
I don't mind confessing that I hate getting up in the mornings; however
sunny they are, it makes no difference. And to have to do it every day
for a whole term, and peg away at scales and arpeggios! Ugh! I sometimes
wish I'd been born a savage in Central Africa!"
"Then they'd have made you learn the tom-tom, and no doubt that's an
instrument that needs perseverance. You can't get out of it, Mona mine!
I see nothing for you but a dreary prospect of early rising, and the
pursuit of five-finger exercises. It's your hard, cruel, inexorable
fate, the chain from which you can't escape."
Mona laughed rather unwillingly: her mirth was never very spontaneous.
"I know it's slavery! Well, I suppose I must live for the summer
holidays! They let me lie in bed as long as I like, and it's my ideal of
bliss."
"Then keep it, you old slacker!" said Bess Harrison. "We'll leave you to
your dreams of a Mahomet's paradise. I like something livelier, and to
go back to my original proposition, I think every school ought to
provide a new sensation after the Easter holidays, just to wake us up,
and keep us from stagnating."
"Of course there are tennis and cricket this term," suggested Maggie
Orton, half apologetically.
"That I admit--but so far at St. Cyprian's we've only carried them on
rather languidly. I wouldn't for the world confess it outside, but
between ourselves I don't mind saying that we're far and away behind
other schools at games. In music I grant you we can give anyone the
lead, in languages we're fair, but at athletics we're a set of duffers."
"We oughtn't to be, then!" exploded Nell Hayward. "We're surely as
physically fit as most girls, and if we laid ourselves out to train we'd
astonish people. It's merely a matter of management. No one's bothered
much about it before, or tried to keep us up to the mark, so of course
we slacked. It's not our fault!"
"But the fact unfortunately remains the same!"
"We want some new life, certainly, put into the tennis and cricket,"
said Maudie Stearne. "Something to make it go. It's never been the same
since Miss Pritchard left."
"She was A1."
"We shan't get another Miss Pritchard!"
"None of the Sixth seem over-keen."
"We may make up our minds that St. Cyprian's is no good at games!"
"Cease these jeremiads!" interposed Kitty Fletcher. "I'll tell you
something to cheer you up. Yes, it's news--real, creditable, veritable
news! Why didn't I tell it before? Because I've been keeping it up my
sleeve for the pleasure of giving you a complete surprise."
"Are we to have a professional to coach us?"
"Or a special games mistress?"
"Are several female athletes going to join the school?"
"Go on, Kit, and tell, can't you?"
"I haven't heard of either athletes or games mistress, but Miss
Cartwright has a grand scheme on hand. We and five other schools are to
join together in an alliance, and to meet each other for all kinds of
things--hockey, cricket, tennis, concerts, debates, photography,
gymnasium, arts and crafts, everything that's going, in fact."
"A kind of Olympic contest? Oh, what sport!"
"Exactly. You see, one school's generally keen on one thing, and another
on something else. This is supposed to spur us on, and make us more 'all
roundish'."
"Hem--a little wholesome competition!" quoted Maudie, with a fair
imitation of Miss Cartwright's rather scholastic voice.
"You put it in a nutshell. We won't call it rivalry, but it would
certainly touch us up to be beaten in anything by Newington Green or
Marston Grove!"
"Ra--ther!"
"And no doubt they'd feel the same, so it will put us all on our
mettle."
"I think it's a gorgeous idea; but how's it going to be run?"
"That's just the point. Each school is to have its own separate
committee, and then send delegates to a general committee. There are to
be five departments: Musical, Dramatic, Arts and Handicrafts, Literary,
and Games, and we're to choose two delegates for each."
"Who's to do the choosing? Miss Cartwright?"
"No, it's to be put to the vote of the upper school. One must be from
the Sixth and one from the Fifth, each form to vote for its own
delegate."
"That sounds fair enough."
"Can we choose the same delegate for two subjects?"
"I shouldn't think so."
"Let me see--Musical, Dramatic, Arts and Handicrafts, Literary, and
Games," said Maudie Stearne, ticking them off on her fingers. "Yes, I
have somebody in my mind's eye for each. Mildred Lancaster, of course,
for music."
"Mildred Lancaster? No, Lottie Lowman."
"She's not in it with Mildred."
"But she's a better organizer. There's no comparison, in my opinion."
"Nor in mine."
"Talk of people and they're sure to turn up! Here they both come."
"And as different as chalk from cheese!" murmured Maudie under her
breath.
The two class-mates who entered the room at that moment were certainly
entirely unlike as regards personal appearance, and the dissimilarity
went deeper. Lottie Lowman, the elder by six months, was a brisk,
alert-looking girl with a fresh complexion, a rather long, pointed nose,
a thin mouth, and a square, determined chin. Her forehead was broad and
intelligent, her light hazel eyes were very bright and sparkling, and
her brown hair held just a suggestion of chestnut in the warmth of its
colouring. Lottie's general effect was one of extreme vivacity. She
loved to talk, and could say sharp things on occasion--there was hardly
a girl in the Form who had not quailed before her tongue--and above all
she adored popularity. To be a general favourite at once with
mistresses, companions, and the Lower School was her chief aim, and she
spared no trouble in the pursuit. Her flippant gaiety appealed to a
large section of the Form, her humorous remarks were amusing, even
though a sting lurked in them, and if her accomplishments were
superficial, they made a far better show than the more-solid
acquirements of others. She could do a little of everything, and had
such perfect assurance that no touch of shyness ever marred her
achievements. She knew absolutely how to make the best of herself, and
she had a _savoir faire_ and precocious knowledge of the world decidedly
in advance of her sixteen years.
Mildred Lancaster, though only six months Lottie's junior, seemed a baby
in comparison, where mundane matters were concerned. She was slightly
built and rather delicate-looking, with a pale, eager face, a pair of
beautiful, expressive brown eyes, and a quantity of silky, soft,
dull-gold hair, with a natural ripple in it. The far-away look in the
dark eyes, and the set of the sensitive little mouth, suggested that
highly-strung artistic temperament which may prove either the greatest
joy or the utmost hindrance to its possessor. Mildred was dreamy and
unpractical to a fault, the kind of girl who in popular parlance needs
to be "well shaken up" at school, and whose imagination is apt to outrun
her performance. Gifted to an unusual degree in music, at which she
worked by fits and starts, her lack of general confidence was a great
impediment, and often a serious handicap where any public demonstration
was concerned. The feeling of having an audience, which was like the
elixir of life to Lottie, filled Mildred with dismay, and was apt to
spoil her best efforts.
The two girls, who had already heard of Miss Cartwright's scheme, came
into the room full of the exciting news, and anxious to discuss it with
their class-mates.
"The very thing for St. Cyprian's!" declared Lottie. "I'll undertake
we'll give the other schools points! 'Nulli secundus,' second to none,
shall be our motto. We'll practise and rehearse till we're tiptop, and
can take the shine out of anybody. The five departments give such
splendid opportunities. When's the election, by the by?"
"To-day at four," said Mildred. "And Miss Cartwright has just made up
her mind that VB is to vote. She says it will be fairer, and give a
better representation of the school."
"Oh, goody! We shall have to hurry up about canvassing."
"Is there to be canvassing?" objected Mona Bradley. "I thought Miss
Cartwright didn't like it?"
"We can't get on without it," said Lottie promptly. "Why, how else are
you going to put the candidates' points to the electors? There are so
many things to be considered if you take an all-round view. Besides, the
fun of it! We'll have speeches!"
"Tub oratory's a cheap way of catching the crowd!" growled Kitty
Fletcher.
"You shall give us a deep discourse, then!" flared Lottie. "No doubt
you'll convince VB with some learned remarks. Well, if anything's to be
done, we'd better be doing. Nell, old girl, you'll be on my side? Let's
come and organize a plan of campaign. O jubilate! Here are the others!"
About seven more girls entered the room at the moment, all hotly
engrossed in the new scheme, and anxious to discuss it. The company
broke into groups, representing fairly well the various sets of the
Form, and began eagerly to weigh the advantages and disadvantages of the
various members proposed for the delegateships.
"It's a responsibility," said Kitty Fletcher, "because a good leader is
half the battle. Don't let's allow any personal feeling to creep in.
Vote for your enemy, if she's 'the man for the job'."
"May we vote for ourselves?" chirruped Eve Mitchell. "Oh, there! I was
only in fun!" as the general scorn of the Form descended upon her.
"Don't utterly spiflicate me! I'm not going to write 'Eve Mitchell' on
all my five papers! Honest, I'm not!"
"You've a good chance for the Music, Mildred," whispered Kitty to her
friend. "There isn't a girl in the school can play like you, and they
know it. I'll back you up for that, if you'll put in a word for me at
Games--that's all I'm good for!"
"And enough too," replied Mildred, "considering we can only be a
delegate for one subject. I'll do my very best, Kit. I'll go at eleven
and harangue some of those slackers in VB. Joan Richards and you would
make an ideal couple; you'd work well together, and pull up the standard
to what it was before Miss Pritchard left. Trust me to do all I can!"
There was little time for canvassing if the election were to take place
at four o'clock on that very day. Perhaps Miss Cartwright had
intentionally arranged it so, wishing to avoid too great seeking for
favour among the girls. Competition she considered wholesome, but she
did not want it to degenerate into rivalry. At eleven o'clock "break",
and during the dinner interval, the supporters of the various
prospective delegates worked hard, impressing the merits of their
particular candidates upon the electors, and trying to secure promises
of votes. The poll was only to be among the members of the Upper School,
who, in the Principal's opinion, were likely to be better judges of each
other's capabilities than would the younger girls. Juniors, she argued,
might be swayed too easily by influence, but she trusted to her seniors
to take an open-minded and unbiased view of the situation.
Soon after four o'clock, therefore, Forms VI, VA, and VB assembled in
the lecture hall. A monitress dealt out papers, and in a moment or two
Miss Cartwright, the Principal, stepped on to the platform.
"I should like to remind you, girls, of the few essential rules of our
election," she began. "They are very simple. No one, of course, must
vote for herself. Each girl is put on her honour not to be influenced by
personal bias, but to choose for the good of the school. On your papers
you will find five divisions--Musical, Literary, Dramatic, Arts and
Handicrafts, and Games. Opposite each you are to write the names of one
member of the Sixth Form and one of the Fifth. You must sign your own
name to the paper, but this will be treated as confidential. I shall
myself count the results."
"You vote for me, Mildred, for the Musical, and I'll vote for you,"
whispered Lottie Lowman, who happened to be sitting next to Mildred
Lancaster. "We can't vote for ourselves, so exchange is no robbery, is
it?"
Mildred coloured with embarrassment. She had already scribbled "Maudie
Stearne" on her paper, not "Lottie Lowman", and it was tiresome to be
thus cornered.
"These are the secrets of the confessional!" she murmured, trying to
pass it off as a joke.
"Nonsense! We can't be so strict as all that. See, I've put 'Mildred
Lancaster'. Let me look at yours."
As Lottie advanced her paper, Mildred hastily snatched hers away, but
not before her companion had obtained a glance which told her of its
contents. The slight rustle attracted the notice of Miss Cartwright, who
fixed such a glare upon the two girls that each at once sat at stiff
"attention", and as if unaware of the other's existence. In dead
silence the voting was finished, the papers carefully folded, collected,
and handed in.
"It will take me about ten minutes to count," said the Principal. "You
can all go to the dressing-room I will pin the result on the notice
board as soon as I possibly can."
The girls filed from the lecture hall with a sense of relief. To sit
waiting for the news would have been a sore trial of patience; it was
far more satisfactory to spend the interval in donning hats and coats.
Besides, in the dressing-room they could talk, and they certainly did
not neglect the privilege. No sooner were they clear of the silence
bounds than they broke into a perfect babel of chatter, discussing the
pros and cons of the election. Some openly avowed how they had voted,
some stuck to their privilege of secrecy, but all were ready to debate
the chances of others. Mildred sat lacing her boots and listening to the
various scraps of conversation that reached her. She hardly dared to
hope for her own success, yet among the whole Form no one more ardently
desired a delegateship than herself. To be a representative of the
musical side of St. Cyprian's particularly appealed to her. She felt it
was almost in the nature of a sacred trust.
Close by Lottie Lowman and a few satellites were washing their hands.
"Some people's meanness is hardly to be believed!" Lottie was saying.
"I'd voted for her, and told her so, so she hadn't the excuse of not
knowing, and I think the least she could do was to vote for me--it only
seemed fair!"
Mildred abandoned the neat "tennis knot" in which she was tying her
bootlace, and sprang up in defence of her character.
"You'd no right to look!" she protested. "Surely I could put any
candidate I liked? There was no coercion!"
"Not for those who weren't candidates themselves," said Sheila Moore;
"but when you were standing for the Musical, you were in rather a
different position."
"It was ever so generous of Lottie to vote for you!" urged Nora
Whitehead.
"I certainly call it stingy not to vote for her!" added Eve Mitchell. "I
should have thought it an obligation!"
"Oh, it's too bad of you! I can't see where the obligation comes in. Our
votes were to be quite private. I think you're horrid!"
"Horrid yourself!" retorted Eve, and would have added more, but at that
moment a scout announced that Miss Cartwright was in the very act of
pinning the results upon the notice-board, so there was a general
stampede for the corridor. As it was impossible for everyone to see the
precious paper at once, the news was proclaimed aloud for the benefit of
those on the outskirts of the crowd.
MUSICAL.--Ella Martin, Lottie Lowman.
LITERARY.--Phillis Garnett, Laura Kirby.
DRAMATIC.--Dorrie Barlow, May Thornett.
ARTS AND HANDICRAFTS.--Alice Lightwood, Freda Kingston.
GAMES.--Joan Richards, Kitty Fletcher.
"So I've won, even without your vote!" said Lottie to Mildred, with a
spice of triumph in her tone.
"I'm very glad, I'm sure. I congratulate you heartily!" replied Mildred,
turning back to the dressing-room for her books, and hurrying away,
professedly in urgent quest of a tram-car.
Most of the others lingered, and started more slowly for home.
"I'm at the tiptop of bliss to have won the Games," said Kitty Fletcher
to Bess Harrison. "I thought Mildred would have got the Musical, though.
I can't understand it. She's miles ahead of Lottie, really."
"Yes, but I'm not sure if Lottie won't make the better delegate. Oh! I
grant you Mildred has ten times the music in her, but I doubt if she'd
get up a concert so well. She hasn't enough push and go--she's always
dreaming. She'd play her own piece divinely, but she'd probably forget
all about other people's."
"Yes, she is unbusinesslike," groaned Kitty, "but it seems such a shame
that the most musical girl in the Form shouldn't represent the music
section."
"Lottie knows exactly the public taste!"
"And plays trash!"
"She plays it well, though."
"In a way."
"You'll see her appointment will be very popular; she'll make things
hum!"
"Likely enough, but I'm sorry for Mildred. I'm afraid she'll be
fearfully disappointed."
CHAPTER II
St. Cyprian's College
Among the six day-schools which were to form the "Alliance" none was
more important in the city of Kirkton than St. Cyprian's College. Though
in numbers it was much smaller than the High School, it possessed a
unique and thoroughly-well-deserved reputation of its own. St. Cyprian's
specialized in music, and just as at many large educational
establishments there is a classical and a modern side, its course of
study was arranged for "collegiate" and "musical". No girl was received
under twelve years of age, by which time, it was considered, her natural
bent ought to have declared itself, and her parents could determine
which branch would suit her best. Those who looked forward to a
University degree, or any career in which public examinations must play
an important part, were placed on the "Collegiate" side, and trained
accordingly in the necessary classics, mathematics and physics, which
would fit them for matriculation, or as candidates for certain
scholarships. In this department St. Cyprian's had done well, and scored
several brilliant successes. On the musical side Miss Cartwright
considered she met a crying need. She was apt to wax enthusiastic when
she discussed her favourite point.
"The time and attention devoted to music in most schools are totally
inadequate," she would say. "Take any girl with a moderate amount of
talent: the years from thirteen to eighteen are of extreme importance in
her musical education. Now if she attends an ordinary High School, she
may with great difficulty put in an hour's daily practice, but no
allowance at all is made for this in her table of home work, and it must
come out of her recreation time. She will probably have about forty
minutes' choral singing weekly, and possibly--though this is by no means
the rule--half an hour at theory, but of real music she does not
understand even the rudiments. Pick out any ordinary girl of sixteen,
take her to a concert, and ask her to name for you the various
instruments in the orchestra: the chances are a hundred to one that the
violin and the 'cello are about the limit of her knowledge. She could
not tell you the difference between a sonata and a symphony, or give you
the vaguest idea of the bass for such a simple tune as 'God save the
King'. Though, of course, girls differ greatly in musical capacity, I
contend that the utter lack of any adequate training is largely
responsible for the pitiable ignorance and bad taste in music which is a
reproach only too justly flung at the British by other European nations.
If all schools would give this subject the prominence it deserves, at
the end of a generation the present popular street songs would not be
tolerated, and we could once more produce something of the quality of
the old English, Scotch, and Irish melodies which have lived among our
national tunes."
In accordance with her system, therefore, Miss Cartwright arranged that
any pupil who was entered on the musical side of the school had a
specially-prepared curriculum. Certain lessons, which were compulsory on
the collegiate side, were in her case omitted, and the time given to
classes in harmony and counterpoint. Each girl practised for at least
half an hour daily at school, under the supervision of a mistress, who
was present while she received the weekly or bi-weekly lesson from her
master, and who would see that his instructions were carried out to the
letter. The home practising was considered of such vital importance that
every pupil received a weekly time-sheet, which she was required to fill
up with the amount done daily, and to bring signed by a parent or
guardian. By this method real and thorough work was ensured, and a
record of progress carefully kept.
With regard to its special cult of music, St. Cyprian's was particularly
fortunate in being situated at Kirkton, one of the biggest provincial
cities in England. Kirkton offered peculiar facilities for a musical
education. Owing to its important commerce it included a large
proportion of Germans among its population, who were sufficiently
wealthy and influential to support a magnificent series of classical
concerts. The "Freiburg" orchestra, so called in memory of its founder,
was world-famous, and comprised some of the best instrumentalists from
various parts of Europe, while its conductorship was considered an
honour sufficient to tempt leading musicians from Vienna or Berlin.
There was also in the city the Freiburg Academy of Music, on the lines
of a foreign conservatoire, where members of the celebrated orchestra
gave lessons, and students who were judged of sufficient talent could be
adequately trained for the musical profession.
To this "Academy of Music" Miss Cartwright passed on the most brilliant
of her pupils. Several of its professors taught at St. Cyprian's, and
she endeavoured as far as possible that all the instruction given at her
College should be on "Freiburg" lines, and therefore preparatory to the
more advanced work which was to follow.
Among the girls who comprised the musical section of the school there
were, of course, vast differences. Some were not possessed of any very
great capacity, and would never attain more than ordinary proficiency,
but one or two were really talented. The standard was so high, and the
pains taken with the pupils were so great, that almost any average girl
could be taught to play well, up to a certain point. There is a
difference, however, between music that has been learnt and music that
is inborn, and no amount of cultivation can supply what nature has not
implanted. At present there were only about five girls at St. Cyprian's
whose performance was of outstanding merit.
Ella Martin, a member of the Sixth, played the violin with considerable
skill; but though her technique was good, she had no power of
expression, and the result was brilliant, but cold. Elizabeth Chalmers,
of VB, was the counterpart of Ella Martin, but on the piano. Her
rendering of most compositions was excellent as regards execution, but
purely mechanical, and therefore soulless. May Fawcett, a child of
barely thirteen, who had only joined the school at Christmas, showed
talent, but was yet in the initial stages of Professor Weissmann's
particular system, and, until she had forgotten the faults developed
under her former teacher, was being kept almost entirely at exercises
and studies.
In VA two girls came easily to the fore. Lottie Lowman had acquired
rather an all-round reputation in the College. She played the piano
well, with a crisp, firm touch and a certain amount of feeling. She was
an excellent reader, and could dash off almost anything at sight, and as
she had, besides, the power of memorizing, she always seemed at home on
her instrument. She sang also, with a clear soprano voice, pretty,
popular drawing-room ballads, into which she threw much sentiment, and
which never failed to delight an ordinary audience. Her extreme
confidence stood her in good stead, and her bright, taking manner added
a further charm to her undoubtedly clever performances.
If Lottie was certainly the favourite of the school, it was Mildred
Lancaster who, in the opinion of those really competent to judge, was
likely in the future to do credit to St. Cyprian's. Mildred had shown
talent amounting sometimes to inspiration, and every now and then she
rose to the point of genius. She learnt both piano and violin, but it
was at the latter instrument she excelled. Hitherto she had only worked
when she chose, and was alternately the pride and the despair of her
master, Herr Hoffmann. There was, unfortunately, no relying upon
Mildred's industry. One week her practice sheet would record three hours
daily, and the next would show a deplorable series of blanks. When she
felt in the mood to play she could astonish her professor with her
extraordinary flashes of brilliancy, but at other times she would seem
absolutely apathetic and uninterested.
She had been three years at St. Cyprian's, and her general school record
was fairly good. She never rose beyond the average of the Form, but was
not regarded as amongst the drones. Perhaps one reason for this was her
friendship with Kitty Fletcher. Kitty had a thoroughly sensible,
practical character. She was a hard worker, and being one of a large
family, was not given to whims or fancies. Her influence over dreamy,
romantic Mildred was excellent; she would spur her on to fresh efforts,
both in lessons and athletics, and by a combination of sympathy,
chaffing, and sheer will power often prevented her from falling into the
slough of inertia to which her disposition was prone. Bright, jolly
Kitty was well liked in her Form, and her appointment as Games delegate
proved popular. Her enthusiasm was catching, and already the girls
promised under her leadership to try to retrieve the lost glory of the
College, and raise it again to its former standard.
All at St. Cyprian's knew that the United Schools Alliance was not a
thing to be taken lightly. If they wished to shine in comparison with
other schools, they would have to work, and devote far more energy to
their various undertakings than they had yet troubled to give. Their
five rivals were not at all to be despised. The Kirkton High School,
averaging six hundred to their two hundred, by its very numbers offered
a good pick of champions for hockey teams or tennis tournaments. The
Marston Grove High School, a suburban branch of the former, had improved
on its parent establishment, and cultivated an almost Olympic keenness
for athletic contests. The Newington Green School was famous for its
Arts and Handicrafts. The Templeton School had given several excellent
dramatic entertainments in aid of charities; while the Anglo-German
School, which was bilingual, could certainly win the palm in respect of
languages.
"The fact is, except in music, we're rather a rotten set. We shall have
to buck up!" said Kitty at the first committee meeting. "If we don't, we
shall get a slap in the face."
Though they might not endorse her slang, the other nine delegates were
inclined to agree with her sentiments.
"There hasn't been enough competition just amongst ourselves," argued
Ella Martin.
"And it's been so hard to make anyone enthusiastic!" sighed Alice
Lightwood.
"Or get them to do anything," echoed Joan Richards.
"Well, they've just got to enthuse now. Slackers must turn sloggers, for
the credit of St. Cyprian's," declared Kitty. "Each department needs
thoroughly organizing, and the best workers picking out. If possible we
must try and not overlap. It stands to reason the same girl can't be
champion at everything, and it's better to make her decide on her bent,
and stick to it. If she's A1 at drawing, she mustn't unsteady her hand
by over-practice at tennis; but if she's a record bowler, for goodness'
sake don't let her waste her time pottering over photography. I vote we
take a census of the school, put down everybody's speciality, and place
her on one of our five lists."
"An excellent suggestion," said Dorrie Barlow. "We divide the school
into Literary, Musical, Dramatic, Arts, and Athletics, and as heads of
the various departments look after our own protegees."
"But surely all will play games?" objected Joan Richards.
"Oh, yes! they'll play, of course--one must have a rank and file--but
the ones we select for special training must not be those who are
working in another division. Can't you see that if a girl's in the
'Dramatic', or practising for a concert, she may play cricket or tennis
for health and recreation, but she can't give her whole mind to it, as
she ought to if she wants to be a champion?"
"A boarding-school with compulsory games has the best chance."
"Well, thank goodness, we're not competing against boarding-schools. The
others are as much day girls as ourselves, and no doubt as hard to make
keen. If we can keep up the general interest we shan't do badly, and I
dare say we may hold our own with fair credit."
Kitty's plan was at once adopted by the committee. A census was taken of
the school, and each girl was asked to decide upon which subject she
meant to devote her surplus energies. The delegates were enthusiastic,
and allowed nobody to escape from their net. They formed five special
societies with sub-committees, drew up rules, enrolled their members,
and insisted upon keeping them up to the mark. Any girl who was not
clever in the more-cultured branches of the Alliance was relegated to
athletics, and under Kitty's tutorship made to develop her muscles. At
first the habitual idlers grumbled, and tried to evade the hard work,
but public opinion was against them. St. Cyprian's was on its mettle,
and the busy bees would not tolerate drones in their hive. Any girl who
did not try her best in one of the five new societies speedily found
herself unpopular, and to be unpopular in a large school is an
unpleasant experience. Each society was working for a definite object.
The "Dramatic" was getting up a play, the "Literary" meant to publish a
magazine, the "Arts and Handicrafts" were working for an exhibition, the
"Musical" meant to give a concert, and the "Athletic" was training its
cricket and tennis champions.
Lottie Lowman certainly was capable of rendering good service in the
Musical department. She discovered several juniors with promising
voices, and taught them each to sing a solo with great effect. If her
style was not quite of the best, she was enthusiastic, and could
communicate her own enthusiasm to others. The younger ones practised
away at light opera songs with keenest enjoyment, learnt, in their spare
time, to play the accompaniments, and were always to be heard trilling
snatches of melody about the school. Ella Martin was concentrating her
efforts upon the instrumental parts, and left the vocal to her
co-delegate. "Lottie's choir", as her flock was called, was entirely a
separate institution from the College Choral Classes, and had nothing to
do with Mr. Hiller, the singing master. Lottie organized the whole
business, chose the songs, conducted practices, and coached her pupils
entirely independent of any supervision at head-quarters. She threw
herself heartily into her task. The work entirely suited her. She loved
to lead, and was extremely happy in her new role of training mistress.
The girls had gathered very readily round her musical standard, with one
exception. Mildred Lancaster held herself aloof, and, under plea of
needing all her time for instrumental work, refused to attend the choral
practices.
It had been a great blow for Mildred that she was not chosen as a
delegate. She was conscious that her talent greatly surpassed Lottie's,
and she did not altogether approve of the latter's methods. Her marked
lack of enthusiasm for the new scheme drew down comment from her friend
Kitty Fletcher.
"You might help, Mildred! You could do so much if you liked, and it's
all for the good of the Coll. Why can't you train some kids, or give a
shove to the thing somehow?"
Mildred shook her head gloomily.
"I know you think me mean, but the fact is I can't work with Lottie. Her
style sets my teeth on edge. She's giving those juniors the most trashy,
rubbishy set of songs, and teaching them to sing with that horrible
perpetual vibrato--and you know Mr. Hiller's opinion of that! She lets
them thump accompaniments anyhow, with the bass all wrong. Ugh! The
whole thing is too music-hall-y for me."
"Of course we all know your taste is classical," sighed Kitty; "but on
that very account I thought you might be so useful in keeping up the
standard. Miss Cartwright never meant them to howl pantomime songs.
You'd be a check on Lottie."
"A check she won't acknowledge. If I say a word, she'll ask me who's
delegate, and tell me to mind my own business. I don't court snubs,
thank you! No; if they chose Lottie, they must stick to Lottie, and
abide the consequences. I'm not going to do the spadework and let her
reap the harvest. I've plenty of practising to do on my own account,
quite enough to fill my spare time."
"Yes, if you'd do it," retorted Kitty, who was public-spirited, and
therefore rather angry with her friend.
But Mildred only shrugged her shoulders, and turned away. Kitty said no
more at the time, but she made an opportunity to see Ella Martin, and
poured forth her complaints.
"Mildred's slacking all round," she said. "I don't know what's wrong
with her. She's letting her own work go. Her practice-sheet is a
disgrace. She's the most musical girl we have at the Coll., and she's
simply doing nothing for herself or anyone else."
"Yes, I've noticed she's gone off lately," replied Ella. "She's a
curious girl. I can't make her out. I sometimes think she's incorrigibly
lazy. She plays when she feels inclined, and she's so clever that it's
no effort to her, but real solid work she doesn't understand. If I'd
half her talent I'd undertake to do more with it than she does.
Sometimes she makes Professor Hoffmann absolutely rage with wrath; she
has her lesson just before mine, you know, so I don't bless her when she
leaves him in a bad temper. Professor Kleindorf gets pretty savage too
when she won't practise, though I think he realizes that her piano is
only understudy to her violin, and doesn't expect too much."
"I wish something would happen to wake her up!" declared Kitty.
CHAPTER III
The Story of a Violin
Mildred Lancaster, with whose history this book is largely concerned,
was an orphan, and had been brought up from her babyhood by an uncle and
aunt who had no children of their own. Her uncle, Dr. Graham, was a busy
man with a large practice, who managed nevertheless to spare a little
leisure to keep up the scientific side of his profession. He was a
prominent member of Health Congresses, Sanitary Commissions, and Medical
Societies, and was full of schemes for the better housing of the
labouring classes, the opening of gardens and pleasure-grounds in
crowded slum districts, the care of cripples and pauper children, or any
question which affected the well-being of the poor people among whom his
work chiefly lay. In all these things Mrs. Graham was his most earnest
right hand.
She had a very strong sense of her responsibility towards those who were
less-well equipped for the world's battles than herself, and she tried
to take some of the light and beauty and culture of her own well-ordered
life into those sad, sordid homes, where no dawn of higher things had
ever shone. It was quiet, unostentatious work, that sometimes seemed to
show small reward for the trouble spent over it, but she went on
patiently all the same, knowing that the result might often be there,
even if she were not able to see it herself.
To both Dr. and Mrs. Graham, Mildred stood in the place of a daughter.
She could remember no other home, and knew no other friends, for her
mother's relations had hitherto ignored the very fact of her existence.
It was a happy little household, with a great deal of love in it, but
the life was plain and simple, with few luxuries or extra indulgences.
The Grahams were not rich people, and everything that they did not need
for absolute necessities was devoted to helping forward the many causes
they had at heart. On Mildred's education, however, they spared no
expense. They sent her to St. Cyprian's College because it was the only
school where she could spend an adequate time on the music which they
hoped might some day prove to be her career, and they were prepared
later on to give her the best possible advantages.
On the very afternoon when Ella Martin and Kitty Fletcher were talking
about her, Mildred, quite unconscious of their concern on her behalf,
was at home, trying to make up some arrears on her practising sheet. The
cosy upstairs sitting-room of the corner house in Meredith Terrace was a
cheerful place, though the carpet was worn and the curtains were faded.
The long rows of shelves on either side of the fire-place were
overflowing with books; on the walls hung prints, etchings, and
water-colour sketches, most of them unframed, and pinned here and there,
without any definite order as to arrangement, so as to secure the best
light available. An unfinished red-chalk drawing stood on an easel by
the open piano, a pot full of tulips made a rich spot of colour against
the old green table-cloth, and a large grey Persian cat slept peacefully
and luxuriously in the arm-chair.
It was a congenial atmosphere for study, and Mildred, who stood with her
violin in the bow-window, had the dreamy, far-away expression in her
eyes which, to those who knew her, meant that her artistic side was
uppermost. Her long, thin, supple fingers were bringing real music from
her instrument. Though her gaze might be fixed upon the piece placed
upon the stand before her, she was paying no heed to it, for the
snatches of melody, now bright and joyful, now soft and sad, which
floated through the room were of her own improvising, a kind of
reflection of the spring sunshine and the twittering of the birds
outside that found its expression in the notes which flowed so richly
and easily that it almost seemed as if her violin were speaking with a
human voice. One cannot live long, however, in a world composed only of
sweet sounds, and Mildred found her day-dream quickly and suddenly
dispelled by the opening of the door and the brisk entrance of her aunt.
"Mildred, dear! Do you call this practising? I thought you had promised
me to keep strictly to your concerto. When I last heard it there were
still a great many mistakes, and I'm afraid Herr Hoffmann will be
anything but satisfied when you go for your next lesson."
Thus brought back to the practical side of life, Mildred put down her
violin with a sigh.
"Such a lovely idea came into my head, Tantie! I just had to try it
over at once, for fear it should go out again. I thought I might enjoy
myself for ten minutes!"
Mrs. Graham did not look approving.
"How many scales and arpeggios have you played?" she enquired gravely.
"Well, not any yet. I can do them after tea."
"And your exercise?"
"Oh! there'll be plenty of time to learn that before next Wednesday.
It's quite an easy one."
"It may be easy, but it will need practice all the same. Have you tried
your new piece?"
"The 'Fruehlingslied'? It's much too difficult. I shall take it back and
tell Herr Hoffmann I can't possibly manage it. It's one of those
terrible things that go with an orchestra. I simply hate them. The
Professor plays to represent the other instruments, and he's always more
than usually fussy and particular. He scolds most abominably if I play a
false note, or happen to come in at the wrong place."
"I'm very glad to hear it. I think you need more scolding than you get
at home."
Mildred screwed up her mouth with a rather humorous expression, then
flung her arms round her aunt's neck and gave her an impulsive hug.
"Sweetest darling little Tantie, you can't scold! So please don't begin
to try. I know I'm horribly bad. I ought to have been grinding away at
that wretched concerto all the time, but it isn't very pretty, and it
has such nasty catchy bits in it. I like making up pieces for myself so
much better than proper practising. The tunes just come into my head,
and then I feel as if I must play them over before I forget them. If I
wait, they're gone, and I never can catch them again."
"I don't blame you, dear child, for liking to compose. What I find fault
with is that you always want to shirk the hard part of the work. Scales
and exercises are not pleasant, I own, but they train your fingers in a
way which nothing else can do. How often has the Professor told you
that, I wonder?"
"About fifteen dozen times, I dare say!" laughed Mildred, cajoling her
aunt into one of the cosy basket-chairs which stood near the hearth, and
installing herself in the other, with Godiva, the Persian cat, on her
knee. "That doesn't make the scales and exercises any more interesting,
though. It's no use, Tantie! I love music, but I detest the drudgery of
it. Why need I spend so much time over the part I don't like? Why can't
I just play my own tunes, and be happy?"
"Because we all hope you are worthy of better things. Simply to amuse
yourself is not the highest ideal, either in music or life. Your violin
was the only possession which your father could leave to you, and you
must think of it as an inheritance, not as a toy."
"I know so little about my father," said Mildred, leaving her seat, and
throwing herself down on the hearth-rug, with her head against her
aunt's knee. "You scarcely ever talk about him."
"Because it's a sad remembrance, dear," said Mrs. Graham, stroking the
golden hair with a gentle hand. "I've shrunk from speaking of it before,
and yet I have often felt lately that you ought to know the story. I
would rather you heard it from me than learnt it from anyone who might
tell it to you with less sympathy than I should."
She paused, with a far-away look in her eyes, as if memories of the past
were living before her. For a moment or two there was silence in the
room, only broken by Godiva's purrs and the twittering of the birds
outside.
"Please go on!" said Mildred impatiently.
"Your violin has a history," began Mrs. Graham. "You know already that
it is a very old and valuable one, made by Stradivarius himself, whose
skill was so marvellous that nobody since has ever been able to equal
the instruments which he turned out from his workshop at Cremona. I
can't tell you who was the earliest owner, or how many hands, long since
dead, have brought sweet music out of it; but when I first made its
acquaintance it was the most cherished possession of a strange old
gentleman who lived in the cathedral city where I was born. No one knew
anything about Monsieur Strelezki, for though he had been an inhabitant
of Dilchester for several years, he remained to the last as great a
mystery as on the day he arrived. His housekeeper, an elderly
Frenchwoman, always alluded to him as 'Monsieur le Comte', and he was
generally believed to be a Polish nobleman, who for some political
reason had been exiled from his native land. He spoke excellent English,
and was apparently well off and accustomed to good society; yet he lived
the life of an absolute recluse, refusing to exchange visits with any of
his neighbours, who, after their first curiosity had worn off, shunned
him with an almost superstitious horror, whispering many tales about him
under their breath.
[Illustration: TANTIE TELLS MILDRED THE HISTORY OF HER VIOLIN, WHICH IS
A VERY OLD AND VALUABLE ONE MADE BY STRADIVARIUS HIMSELF.]
"My brother and I would look with a kind of fascination at the gloomy
old dwelling just outside the precincts which the Comte had bought, and
at once surrounded with such a very high wall that it went in future by
the name of 'The Hidden House'. We used to pass it every day on our way
to school, and I remember how, by a mutual understanding, we always
crossed the road exactly at the corner near the lamp-post, so as to
avoid walking too close to what, in our childish imagination, might be
the abode of an anarchist or worse. Your father was my only brother,
five years younger than myself, my greatest companion, and my special
charge after our mother's death. He had the most charming, lovable,
careless, happy-go-lucky, and irresponsible disposition that I have ever
known. I fear both my father and I spoilt him, for he was very winning,
and when he would ask in his coaxing way it was difficult to refuse him
anything. From a little child he had shown the most wonderful love for
music. He seemed to learn the piano almost by instinct, and his greatest
amusement was to play by ear all the chants and anthems which were sung
by the cathedral choir. An air once heard never escaped his memory, and
he would put such beautiful harmonies to it, and make such elaborate
variations upon it, that I have often listened to him with amazement.
Our father was proud of his boy's talent, and, wishing him to play the
organ, made arrangements that he should take lessons from the cathedral
organist.
"At first Bertram was pleased to have the great instrument respond to
his little fingers, but he found the stops and pedals were troublesome
and confusing to manage, and he did not make the progress we had hoped
for. His one longing was to learn the violin. He used to implore our
dancing-master to allow him to try the small instrument by which we were
taught to regulate the steps of our quadrilles and polkas, and he would
even bribe the blind old street musician who played before our house on
Saturday mornings to lend him his fiddle and bow. There was no one in
the town, however, whom my father considered worthy to teach him, so he
was obliged to content himself with trying to pick out tunes on a guitar
which had belonged to my mother, and which he had found stowed away in
the lumber-room. One day my brother and I were walking down the narrow
paved street on our way home from the cathedral, when, passing by the
mysterious 'Hidden House', we heard the wailing strains of a violin.
Bertram at once stopped to listen, and seeing that the door in the high
wall, which was generally fast locked, to-day stood open, he crept
inside the garden, so that he might hear the better. I followed, to try
and persuade him to return, but I, too, was so attracted by the
enchanting music which flowed through the open window that together we
stood concealed behind a syringa bush, almost holding our breath for
pleasure.
"I know now that it was a composition of Rubenstein's that Monsieur le
Comte was playing, but we had never heard it before. It was a style of
foreign music quite new to us, and the wild romance, the weird beauty
and pathos, the bewitching, haunting ring of the melody, rendered by a
master hand, together with the strangeness of the unusual rhythm, roused
my brother to a degree of excitement I had never seen him show before.
As the last soft notes sank quivering away, he rushed from his
hiding-place, and running up the steps to the French window, dashed
impulsively into the room where Monsieur Strelezki stood with his
violin.
"'Oh, thank you! Thank you!' he cried. 'I've never heard anything so
wonderful in all my life. Will you please tell me what it's called? And
oh! if you would play it over again!'
"To say that the Comte was astonished will very poorly describe the
scene that followed, but finding that the boy was in earnest, he bade us
be seated, and gave us such a bewildering and utterly charming selection
of quaint Polish and Hungarian airs that Bertram was wild with delight.
He sealed a friendship then and there with Monsieur Strelezki, and
whenever he had a half-hour to spare he would hurry away to the 'Hidden
House' to listen to more of the fascinating music.
"It was perhaps only natural that the Comte, seeing my brother's
enthusiasm, should offer to teach him the violin; and though my father
was somewhat doubtful about allowing him to accept so great a favour
from our eccentric neighbour, he could not, in the end, resist Bertram's
pleadings, so the lessons began. I think teacher and pupil enjoyed them
equally, and the boy's progress was simply marvellous. He not only
learned with a rapidity which astonished even his master, but about this
time he began to compose pieces himself, and could hardly contain his
joy in this newly-discovered talent. I would often beg him to write them
down, as he was apt to forget them; but he did not like the trouble of
transcribing music, and would declare with a laugh that it did not
matter, as he always had a new one in his head. His school work suffered
very much. He would spend over his violin hours which ought to have been
given to preparing Greek and Latin, and my father was often angry over
his bad reports. It seemed little use, however, to scold him; he was
full of promises of amendment, but he never kept any of them.
"This had gone on for perhaps three years, when one day my brother went
round early to the 'Hidden House'. He found everything in a state of
confusion and upset. Monsieur Strelezki had died suddenly of heart
failure during the night. The old housekeeper had discovered him, when
she entered the dining-room in the morning, sitting, as she supposed,
writing, with his violin on the table by his side; but the eyes bent
over the paper were sightless, and the fingers that still held the pen
were stiff and cold. On a half-sheet of note-paper he had written in a
shaky hand:
"'TO BERTRAM LANCASTER.
"'Farewell, dear pupil and friend! The King of the Musicians has
called me. We shall meet no more in this world. I bequeath you my
Stradivarius. May it prove for you the key to fame. Remember always
that there is only one secret of true success, and that is....'
"But here the messenger had come for Monsieur le Comte, and he had
obeyed the summons, leaving the secret he had tried to tell for ever
untold.
"As my brother grew older his passion for music seemed only to increase.
My father wished him to study law, so that he might in time give him a
partnership in the steadygoing old-fashioned solicitor's practice which
had been in our family for several generations, but Bertram utterly
refused. He had set his heart on a musical career, and after a bitter
quarrel with his father, he left home altogether, taking with him the
small fortune he had inherited from our mother, and went away with the
avowed intention of devoting himself to his violin.
"'I feel I have a future before me, Alice,' he said, as he bade me
good-bye. 'I shall solve the Comte's secret yet. If it was talent he
referred to' (and he flushed a little) 'I think I've my fair share of
that, so perhaps the Stradivarius may really prove the key to fame, in
spite of everything!'
"It is a very sad part of the story that comes now, but I must tell it
to you all the same. Bertram left us in high hopes, and for a time,
while his enthusiasm was fresh, and the change still new, I believe he
studied hard at his music. But he had a curious lack of any real effort
or steady concentrated purpose. He was always going to do great things,
which somehow were never accomplished. I cannot tell you how many operas
and oratorios he began to compose, which were to take the public by
storm; but none of them was ever finished, though the fragments which I
heard were of so rare a quality that they were fit to rank among the
works of men of genius. Sometimes he would be at the very height of
exaltation, and sometimes in the lowest depths of despair; there were
periods of wild ambition, when he was determined to have the world at
his feet, but they never lasted long enough to carry him through the
whole of an opera.
"A few of his shorter compositions were published, and were very highly
thought of by musicians, and he had splendid opportunities of playing at
concerts and recitals. His appearances in public were always successful;
yet he so often refused to fulfil his engagements, for no apparent
reason except the whim of the moment, that the managers grew tired of
him. He fell under the influence of bad companions, who led him to
neglect his work, and to think of nothing but pleasure, and he had not
the moral courage to say 'No' to them. His little fortune was soon
spent, and as my father refused to help him, he was obliged at last to
earn his bread as a teacher of music. It was in this capacity that he
made the acquaintance of your mother, whose father, Sir John Lorraine,
could not forgive her runaway match with one whom he considered utterly
unworthy of her, and forbade her name to be mentioned again in his
presence. You cannot remember her, Mildred, for she only lived long
enough to put her little golden-haired baby into my arms, and beg me to
be a friend to it--a trust that I have never forgotten, both for your
sake and hers.
"After this matters went from bad to worse. Your father, in his grief,
took no trouble over his teaching, pupils slipped away, and he also lost
the post in an orchestra which for some time had been his chief
resource. I helped him to my uttermost, but it was little enough, after
all, that I could do for him. His health, never robust, seemed suddenly
to fail, and before the year was out he had died, broken-hearted, in the
prime of his youth, the success he had dreamt of still unwon. I was with
him at the last, and as he put his poor worn hand in mine, he said:
"'Alice, I discovered the Comte's secret too late! Give the Stradivarius
to my child. It's the only inheritance I have to leave her. Perhaps my
wasted life may teach her to use hers to better advantage, and some day
she may meet with the fame and success that I always hoped for but never
gained.'"
Mildred sat very silent for a moment or two when Mrs. Graham had
finished her story.
"What was the Comte's secret?" she asked at length, with a break in her
voice.
"Perseverance and hard work. Talent is of very little use without these.
Nothing can be gained in this world without taking pains, and any
success worth having must be at the cost of the best effort that's in
us. Do you see why I've told you this to-day?"
"Yes," replied Mildred thoughtfully. "I didn't know my violin had such a
history. I loved it before, but I shall love it ten thousand times
better now. Tantie, I think I'll tussle with the 'Fruehlingslied' after
all. I believe if I really slave at it I can manage it. It'll be
hateful, but I declare I'll try, if I break every string, and wear my
bow out in the attempt."
"That's my brave girl! Shall we have a resolutions, not only for the
'Fruehlingslied', but for all-round work at school? Miss Cartwright says
you can do so well when you choose. Won't you promise?"
"Honour bright, Tantie! I'll do my best!"
CHAPTER IV
Concerns VA
Mildred's resolution to work was a huge effort to her easy-going,
unpractical temperament, but she could not have made it at a more
favourable time. The new Alliance had aroused a general wave of
enthusiasm at St. Cyprian's, and many girls who before had been inclined
to shirk were now determined to put their shoulders to the wheel. There
is a great deal in public opinion, and while a do-as-you-please attitude
had hitherto been in vogue, keenness and strenuousness now became the
fashion. The school was divided into "Sloggers" and "Slackers", and the
latter were looked down upon, and made to feel their inferiority. Among
the seventeen girls who composed VA there was of course every variety of
disposition, from Laura Kirby, who was nicknamed "the walking
dictionary", to Sheila Moore, who was a byword for silliness. Naturally
they had their different little sets and cliques, but these were only
affairs of secondary importance; as a Form they were remarkably united,
and anxious to maintain the credit of VA against the rest of the school.
It was especially with regard to their seniors that they felt an element
of competition. To beat juniors was always a poor triumph, and nothing
much to boast of, but the Form perpetually cherished the ambition to (as
they expressed it) "go one better than the Sixth". The Sixth were not
disposed to lay aside their laurels, so the struggle went on, in quite
an amicable fashion, but with a spirit of rivalry all the same. It was
the custom every few weeks for each of the three top forms to give a
short dialogue in French or German. These had nothing to do with the
Dramatic Society, being merely part of the school course, to accustom
the girls to converse in foreign languages, and they were performed with
very little ceremony before an audience of teachers and juniors. This
month a German scene had been apportioned to VA, and Kitty Fletcher,
Bess Harrison, Mona Bradley, and Mildred Lancaster were chosen by
Fraeulein Schulte to represent the principal characters. It was not
difficult to learn their short parts, and last term, when once they had
committed them to memory, they would have thought no more of the matter
until the afternoon of the performance. Now, however, in view of the
generally-raised standard, they were disposed to take more trouble.
"I'd just like to show the Sixth what we can do," said Kitty. "Suppose
our dialogue turned out better than theirs? It would be such a triumph!"
"It strikes me the Sixth intend to turn the tables, and spring a
surprise on us," said Mildred. "I'm quite sure they're concocting
something."
"Oh, how did you get to know? What is it?"
"That I can't say, but I heard them murmuring something about a
rehearsal, and they all scooted off to the small studio."
"Are they there now? I vote we go and see," suggested Bess Harrison.
The four girls hurried upstairs at once, only to find the door of the
studio locked, and the Sixth firm in their refusal to open it.
"I want to get my drawing-board!" wailed Mona through the keyhole.
"Then you ought to have got it before. You'll have to wait now," was the
stern reply.
"But I must have it. And my chalk pencils. Let me in just for an
instant!"
"I tell you I can't!"
"What are you all doing in there?"
"That's our concern."
"Oh, you are mean!"
"Go away this minute, and leave us in peace. What business have you
intruding here?"
Finding knocks and thumps on the door as useless as their entreaties,
and that the keyhole had been carefully stopped up with a piece of soft
paper, the four beat a retreat. They were consumed with curiosity,
however.
"I just mean to get to know, somehow!" exploded Bess.
"Look here," said Mona, "I've an idea. Let us creep out through that
skylight window on the landing, crawl over the roof, and then we can
peep right down through the studio skylight. We'd see for ourselves
then. It would be better than keyholes."
Mona's brilliant suggestion was hailed with joy. The only obstacle which
offered itself was the difficulty of climbing up to the skylight. But
Mona was resourceful. She remembered the housemaids' cupboard at the
top of the stairs, and promptly purloined the step-ladder which stood
there. Fortunately it was a tall one, so without any superhuman display
of agility they were able to reach the roof. A narrow parapet ran round
the edge of the house, which afforded some slight security, but perhaps
all four girls felt qualms when they found themselves at such a giddy
height. Not one would confess her fear, though, so they commenced to
creep cautiously forward in the direction of the studio.
"It's like Alpine climbing!" gasped Kitty as they ascended the steep
angle. "We've got to go over that ridge! Oh! I say, aren't the slates
hot?"
Giggling a little to hide their tremors, the adventurous four reached
the chimney-stack, and paused for a moment to survey the prospect. They
could obtain a truly bird's-eye view of the playground and the street
beyond.
"I know what it must feel like to see things from an aeroplane," said
Mildred. "You just get the tops instead of the sides. Look at those hats
down there!"
"Oh, don't let us waste time in looking!" said Mona. "Suppose the Sixth
should have gone when we get to the studio? It would be such a
stupendous sell!"
Urged by the mere idea of such a fiasco, the girls plucked up their
courage again, and pursued their caterpillar-like progress. They soon
reached the studio skylight, and, peering down, were able easily to see
into the room. The Sixth were still there, and very busily employed.
Apparently they were holding a rehearsal, and they were dressed up in
costumes suitable to the occasion. Dorrie Barlow wore a large French
peasant cap, Kathleen Hodson sported a cloak and top-boots, and Edith
Armitage, in a blue silk dress with a train, was evidently a lady of
high degree. Sublimely unconscious of the four spies above them, the
seniors went on complacently with their work. Most of their conversation
only ascended as a general buzz, but every now and then a remark in a
louder tone than usual was audible on the roof.
"That's capital, Gertie!"
"No one's an idea what we're doing."
"We routed those Fifth-Formers!"
"Cheek of them to come prying here!"
"They went away no wiser, though!"
"We must hide these costumes."
The spectators above absolutely gurgled with joy, but they were careful
not to betray their presence. Making a sign to the others, Mona motioned
them to withdraw their heads.
"We've seen enough!" she whispered. "They might look up at any moment.
Better beat a retreat now."
Four very satisfied girls climbed back over the ridge of the roof. They
had gained exactly the information they wanted, and they meant to act
upon it. They considered their action was a benefit to their Form.
"We've done it so quickly," said Mona, who was leading the way, "we
shall have time to scoot downstairs, and be just innocently loitering
about the playground before the Sixth have finished. They'll never
guess!--Oh, I say, here's a go!"
"What's the matter?"
"Why, if the wretched skylight isn't shut!"
This was bad news indeed. With consternation in their faces they crept
closer, and tried to lift the skylight up. They pulled till their
fingers were sore, but with no success.
"Somebody must have come along the passage and shut it," said Kitty.
"It's a nuisance to have to give ourselves away, but I can't see
anything for it but to knock and get the window opened."
"Someone's sure to be going along the passage," said Bess hopefully.
So they knocked quietly at first, and then thumped with energy
sufficient to break the glass. There was no response, however; not even
a solitary junior passed down the passage.
"What are we to do?"
Kitty's face was blank in the extreme.
"The step-ladder's gone too!" squealed Bess.
At that moment the big school bell clanged loudly for afternoon
call-over. Waxing absolutely desperate, the girls not only thumped on
the glass, but shouted. To their intense relief their signals were
heard, and the figure of Rogers, the upper housemaid, hove into view.
Calling to them to keep clear of the window, she opened the skylight.
"Whatever are you doing up there?" she enquired tartly.
"Oh, Rogers, do be an angel, and fetch the steps quick!"
The expression on Rogers's face was not at all angelic.
"You've no business out on the roof, and you know it."
"Yes, that's why we want to come down," returned Kitty, "if you'll only
let us. Do fetch those steps, please!"
Grumbling to herself, Rogers brought the step-ladder, and held it steady
while the girls descended.
"I shall tell Miss Cartwright," she announced. "Larks like these are
beyond a joke."
"Oh, Rogers, don't--don't, please!" implored the sinners. "We'll vow on
our honour never to do it again. Honest--honest, we won't!"
"I can't have the steps taken out of my cupboard."
"We won't so much as peep through the chink of the door again, far less
touch anything."
"Do, please, promise not to report us. Oh, we're going to be late for
call-over! There's the second bell."
"Late you'll certainly be, and serve you right!" snapped Rogers. Then,
relenting a little: "Well, I won't report you this time; but mind, if I
ever catch you meddling with this window again, or touching anything in
my cupboard, you needn't expect to get off."
Thankful to escape with nothing worse than a scolding, the four tore
downstairs in the hope that they might just be in time to answer to
their names, but Miss Pollock was closing the register as they entered
the room, and had already marked them down "late". Rather crest-fallen,
they went to their various classes--Mildred to practise, Mona to her
drawing lesson, and Bess and Kitty to Latin preparation. At four o'clock
they met to compare notes.
"After all, I think we scored," said Mona. "We found out what the Sixth
were doing."
"Yes, and what we've got to do now is to get up our own dialogue in
costume, and not let the Sixth have a hint of it beforehand."
"It will take the wind out of their sails when they see us all dressed
up."
"Especially if we do the thing better."
"That goes without saying. I've a far nicer dress at home than Edith's
blue silk."
"We shall have to tell Eve and Maudie."
"Of course, but no one else in the Form need know. It can be a surprise
for everybody."
As a rule, though the school was obliged to be present to act audience
at the monthly dialogues, everybody considered them rather a bore. Even
the girls who were taking part had not hitherto been very enthusiastic.
They had been regarded strictly as lessons, and not in any sense
recreation. This time, however, both the Sixth and the Fifth had a
secret--a possession which adds a charm to any undertaking. The Fifth
held the decided advantage of knowing their seniors' intentions while
preserving silence about their own. They held delightfully mysterious
committee meetings in the dressing-room, and private confabulations in
the playground. Long-suffering relations at home were induced to set to
work with needles and thread, or to lend a variety of articles that
would come in for the occasion. On the day of the dialogues several
bulky packages were smuggled into school. The girls had been obliged at
the last moment to take Miss Pollock into their confidence, and beg her
to lock up the costumes in her cupboard until the afternoon, and to
secure them the use of a small practising room for a dressing-room.
Five out of the six performers stayed to dinner at the College, so they
had a little extra time for last arrangements. By dint of hard pleading
they had managed to change places with VB, so that their dialogue came
third on the list instead of second.
"That's good biz," said Kitty. "Now we shall be able to sit all through
the Sixth's performance, and do our robing while VB are on the platform.
Then we'll just walk on and astonish everybody."
Punctually at three o'clock the whole school assembled in the big
lecture-hall, and took their places, small girls in front, and older
ones to the back, with a row of chairs reserved for teachers. In spite
of the discretion of the performers, some little hint had leaked out
that the afternoon's proceedings were to be of an extra special
character, and there was considerable whispering and expectation among
the audience. The six players in VA had seats at the end of a bench, so
that they could make an easy exit when necessary. They watched with
keenest anticipation as the door behind the platform opened and the
actors in the French dialogue entered. The rank and file of the school
had not expected costumes, and clapped heartily at sight of the quaint
figures who were standing bowing and curtsying with eighteenth-century
dignity. Kathleen Hodson as Monsieur le Duc de Fontaineville was stately
in her top-boots, an evening cloak of her mother's flung across her
shoulder, and a sword at her side.
"Silk stockings and buckled shoes would have been more in keeping with
the period than those boots," whispered Bess to Mildred. "They haven't
taken any trouble over details."
"Dorrie Barlow's cap is only made of tissue-paper," triumphed Mildred.
"Wait till they see Eve's."
The wearing of the dresses seemed decidedly inspiring to the performers,
who gave their short piece with far more spirit than was their usual
custom. To be sure, Monsieur le Duc forgot his sword, and, tripping over
it, nearly measured his length on the platform, but he recovered himself
with admirable calm, and went on with his speech as if nothing had
happened. Susanne, the peasant woman, clattered about in a real pair of
sabots, but had the misfortune to step on the train of Madame, her
mistress, with rather disastrous results, to judge from the rending
sound which ensued. Gertie Raeburn was seized with stage-fright, forgot
her lines, and had to be prompted; and Hilda Smith, who enacted the
Abbe, was distinctly heard to giggle under her ecclesiastical vestments.
In spite of these slight flaws the piece was immensely appreciated, and
brought down a storm of applause, under cover of which our six heroines
of VA slipped quietly from the room.
There was no time to be lost, for they knew VB's dialogue was only
short. Miss Pollock had placed their parcels in readiness, so they
opened them with utmost speed and began their toilets. They all helped
one another, and made such a record of haste that in exactly ten minutes
they were ready, and listening for the applause which would mark the
termination of VB's performance. At the very first clap they ran down
the passage; then, restraining their impatience, waited until their
predecessors had made their due exit from the lecture-hall. It was with
pardonable pride that they stepped on to the platform and watched the
look of amazement which spread over the audience. Nobody had expected
them to be in costume--that was evident. The Sixth were looking
particularly astonished, indeed almost annoyed. There was a discomfited
expression on their faces, highly gratifying to the conspirators. Even
Miss Cartwright seemed surprised. The little German play had afforded
good opportunity for dressing up, and the girls had certainly risen to
the occasion.
Bess Harrison, as "Else, the daughter of the Schloss", wore a charming
mediaeval robe, with velvet bodice and slashed sleeves; her long fair
hair was plaited in two orthodox braids, and she held a distaff and
spindle at which she worked industriously. Mildred, her betrothed, was
arrayed as a baron of the Lohengrin type, in a short robe of
peacock-blue emblazoned with an heraldic dragon in scarlet. Her golden
hair was combed loosely over her shoulders, and surmounted by a small
ducal coronet. She had a heavy chain round her neck, and armlets on her
bare arms. Kitty Fletcher made a stately mediaeval grandmother, in
silken gown, stiff ruffle, coif and wimple, and rattled the keys of the
Schloss with great effect as she said her lines. Eve Mitchell as the
serving-maid had a cap of real muslin, copied from an old German
picture, a green-and-black-striped skirt, cherry-coloured stockings, and
buckled shoes; while Maudie Stearne, in her capacity of seneschal,
almost surpassed the rest in the gorgeousness of her embroidered cloak,
chain armour, and winged helmet.
The girls were on their mettle to do well, and played up most
successfully. The whole dialogue went without a single hitch, and the
actors threw enough scorn, grief, jealousy, alarm, and devotion into
their parts to have sufficed for a longer play. As finally, quite
flushed with their efforts, they made their bows to the audience, the
appreciative school broke into thunderous applause. The Sixth, nobly
repressing any spasms of envy that may have assailed them, were clapping
heartily, Miss Cartwright beamed approval, and Fraeulein Schulte was all
congratulations and smiles.
"Really, this afternoon's dialogues have been a delightful innovation,"
said the Principal. "The addition of costumes makes an immense
improvement. It was a coincidence that the two Forms should have thought
of it quite independently of each other. You must have been mutually
surprised. I am very pleased indeed, girls. It is a step in the right
direction when you organize these things on your own account."
"It isn't quite such a coincidence as Miss Cartwright imagines,"
chuckled Kitty, as she and her confederates disrobed in the practising
room. "She doesn't know who peeped through the skylight."
"And we certainly shan't tell her," laughed Mona.
"We've stolen a march on the Sixth," said Mildred.
"Yes, they had to give us the palm this afternoon," agreed Maudie. "I
think we may decidedly feel we've scored."
CHAPTER V
An Advertisement Competition
Though the general census at St. Cyprian's had docketed Mildred
emphatically as "musical", she was not on that account entirely debarred
from joining other societies. True, she was expected to concentrate her
energies on her violin, and win credit with it for the school, but so
long as she did not claim a leading part in any of the alliance
contests, there was no objection to her being an ordinary member. All
the girls were strongly encouraged to play games, so she practised
tennis in the dinner hour, and took her turn with the rank and file at
cricket. She had not the essential characteristics of a champion--her
physique was not vigorous enough, and she lacked perseverance--but the
exercise was good for her, and as the term wore on she began to exhibit
improvement. Kitty Fletcher was in hard training, and had inspired a
select number of suitable votaries with a like enthusiasm.
"We shall have a hard fight presently with the High School, so we must
show that St. Cyprian's is capable of something," she said. "They shan't
have it all their own way. I'm sorry we can't put you in the team,
Mildred."
"I don't want to be in the team. I'd much rather look on when it's a
question of matches. At present I'm thoroughly enjoying dabbling in all
the societies. I've joined the sketching club, and I'm taking a turn at
the Literary."
"That's more in your line than mine. I'd rather spend an afternoon at
cricket than compose an essay."
"Oh, I'm not doing any real solid writing. I leave that to Phillis
Garnett and Laura Kirby. They're hard at work making a magazine number
that's to rival the _Nineteenth Century_ or the _Hibbert Journal_. My
contributions are of a very light character. I sent one in the other
day, and--isn't it sad?--it was rejected 'with the editor's
compliments'. I tackled Phillis about it, and she said the mag. was
meant to be serious, not comic. I thought my poem might have livened
things up a little, but she'd have none of it."
"Have you got it here?"
"Yes; like the orthodox unsuccessful minor poet, I have it in my
pocket."
"Oh, do let me see it!"
"It has the advantage of shortness, and if brevity is the soul of wit,
that ought to be a point in its favour," said Mildred, producing her
maiden effort. "I call it a 'compressed novelette'. Perhaps I'd better
read it aloud to do it full justice. My writing isn't very clear.
"All ringed and bangled,
At me you angled;
With ways newfangled
The bait you dangled.
Yet ere bells jangled
We two had wrangled,
Our love was tangled,
My heart was mangled!"
"Not half-bad!" laughed Kitty. "I'm afraid it's hardly the style,
though, to impress Phillis or Laura. If you could have written it in
Greek it might have suited them. What did the others say to it?"
"Haven't had time to show it to them yet."
"Some of them will like it. They're not all as deep as Phillis and
Laura. Why don't you get up a little fun among the more frivolous end?"
"It might be worth thinking of if I find an opportunity."
Mildred, who had a strong vein of humour in her composition, treasured
up Kitty's suggestion. She knew the bulk of the members could not rise
to the height of the learned essay which their leaders considered worthy
of the magazine, but they would be quite ready to amuse themselves with
work of a less exacting character. Several schemes occurred to her and
were put aside, but one day she hit upon something really appropriate,
and came to school with visible triumph on her face. At eleven-o'clock
break she cajoled the lesser lights of the literary society to a private
corner of the playground, and propounded her scheme.
"Look here," she began. "I saw this advertisement in yesterday's
_Herald_, and cut it out:
"LITERARY.--Wanted, short poems to advertise a famous brand of tea.
Prize of three guineas offered for best effort, and ten shillings
each for any others selected. Cracker mottoes and comic verses for
Christmas cards also considered. Last date for receiving, May
20th.--No. 201x, _Kirkton Herald_ Office.
Well, now, my idea is this. Let's all try and write some verses, put
them together, and send them in. It would be such a joke!"
"Could we write verses about tea?" hazarded Maggie Orton doubtfully.
"Of course we can. It rhymes with heaps of things--agree, and free, and
quali_tee_; it shouldn't be hard at all."
"I rather incline towards cracker mottoes," said Clarice Mayfield. "Most
that one gets at Christmas parties are such drivel. I've often felt I
could make better."
"Then do try. And, Margaret, you ought to be able to turn out some
Christmas-card verses. Let's make a syndicate, and pool all our
contributions. Everybody to send in not less than one, and more if
possible."
"How about the prize, if one of the poems got it? Should we pool that?"
"We could divide it," suggested Myrtle Robinson.
"No, I've a better idea than that," said Mildred. "We'd be
public-spirited, and devote any proceeds we got to the school library.
We've the most rubbishy set of old books at St. Cyprian's, and want some
new ones badly. Who votes for this?"
"Aye! Aye!" came quite unanimously from the girls, though Maggie Orton
qualified her assent with a cautious "If we get it".
"Well, that goes without saying, of course. Naturally it's a case of
'first catch your hare'. But there's no harm in trying, so we must all
set our wits to work and see what we can manage. It ought to be rather
sport."
"Especially if we see the verses in print afterwards," giggled the
girls.
"You'd better not tell Phillis," added Myrtle.
"I don't intend to," laughed Mildred.
The various members of the syndicate were rather taken with the idea of
the competition, and exercised their brains to the utmost in evolving
eulogies of the unknown brand of tea. Some of their effusions they tore
up, and some they kept. In the end, after being carefully read aloud and
voted on, three only were judged worthy of being submitted. These were
by Maggie Orton, Myrtle Robinson, and Mildred herself. They ran as
follows:--
OUR BRAND
"If a good tea you would buy,
You can always quite rely
On our excellent and justly famous blend.
'T is a most delicious cup,
That will tone and cheer you up,
And one that we can safely recommend.
"If you want good honest tea,
That will rich in flavour be,
So fragrant, so refreshing, and so pure,
Just try our special brand
Of young leaves picked by hand,
'T will give you satisfaction, we are sure.
"Let the water be fresh boiled,
Or the tea'll perchance be spoiled,
And brewed for just three minutes let it be.
Then we think you'll never tire
Of sitting by the fire,
And enjoying our delicious brand of tea."
A FAMOUS BLEND
"All those who try
Good tea to buy,
And oft have found
The price too high,
We recommend
That you should try
Our famous blend.
"By careful choice
All crops among,
We mix a blend
That can't go wrong;
For flavour rare
Housewives declare
'T is past compare.
"The huge demand
On every hand
Shows to the wise
It takes the prize.
We can rely,
If once you try,
You'll always buy."
WORLD-FAMOUS TEA
"If a tea you would find that is just to your mind,
Yet that won't be too dear for your pocket,
Try our world-famous blend, when your money you spend,
And remember our branches all stock it.
So come to our shop for your tea,
Our famous, rich, syrupy tea;
If once you will get it, you'll never regret it,
But join in the praise of our tea.
"Home's a glad happy place, with a smile on each face,
If our world-famous brand you will sample;
'T is the tea ladies love, as the large demands prove.
And three spoons in the pot will be ample.
So come to our shop for your tea,
Our famous, rich, syrupy tea;
Mansion, cottage, or hall, it is suited to all,
The best that can possibly be."
A few cracker mottoes and Christmas-card verses were also selected, and
the whole set put together. Mildred, as the originator of the scheme,
took charge of them, and promised to send them off in good time for the
competition. It seemed no use forwarding them too soon, as they would
probably only lie waiting at the _Herald_ offices, so she put them by in
a drawer to post when the right date arrived. Now, unfortunately, though
Mildred could be extremely keen upon a thing at the moment, once the
first excitement of it was over it was apt to slip from her memory. She
had enjoyed trying her 'prentice muse at tea verses, but, having
finished them, she turned her thoughts to something else. Music was at
present absorbing most of her time, and in the interest of her violin
the papers lay in her drawer forgotten. On the afternoon of May 20th she
was sitting in the studio working at her drawing copy, with no more idea
of advertisements for tea in her thoughts than if that beverage had
never existed. At three o'clock she was due for her music lesson from
Herr Hoffmann, and she was putting in time rather languidly at her chalk
head of Venus, and wondering whether the Professor would be in a good
temper, or whether he would scold her for faulty rendering of her study.
Myrtle Robinson was sitting at the desk behind, and presently contrived,
without attracting the attention of the teacher, to hand her a slip of
paper. She opened it carelessly enough, and read:
"I suppose you posted the competitions all right? M. R."
Mildred dropped her pencil and broke its point in her agitation. Posted
the competitions? She had done nothing of the sort. They were still
lying in her drawer at home, though to-day was the last date for
receiving them.
"Oh, what a lunatic I am!" she groaned to herself, "I, who suggested the
whole thing, and made the others write, to be the one to forget all
about it! Something has to be done, that's clear. And it must be done at
once, too. I mustn't on any account let the girls know I failed them."
Mildred was impulsive to a fault. At this moment the one business in
life seemed to be to get the competitions to their destination, even at
the eleventh hour. It was futile to post them, but they might still be
delivered at the offices of the _Kirkton Herald_. There was nothing else
for it, she must take them herself, and that immediately. It was almost
three o'clock, and the art mistress knew that she had to go to her music
lesson. She rose, therefore, received the nod of dismissal, and,
ignoring Myrtle's signal demanding an answer to her question, put away
her drawing-board, and hurried from the studio. Instead, however, of
fetching her violin, and going straight to No. 6 practising room, where
Herr Hoffmann would just be finishing Mary Hutton's lesson, she walked
to the dressing-room, and put on her hat and coat. She knew she was
going to do a most dreadfully unauthorized and unorthodox act, and she
shivered to think of the consequences, but she did not hesitate for one
moment.
"That competition's got to go in time," she told herself, "even though
the Professor rages, and Miss Cartwright storms, and I get myself into
the biggest pickle I've ever been in, in all my life. I can't fail the
girls now. I couldn't look them in the face again. It would be too
ignominious. No, I've a pressing engagement elsewhere this afternoon,
and can't keep my appointment with Herr Hoffmann, though I shan't write
a note and tell him so!"
At three o'clock it was extremely easy to leave the school unobserved.
Nobody was about, so Mildred simply walked out through the gate. She
took the electric car home, and was rather relieved to find that neither
her uncle nor her aunt was in the house. She felt she would rather not
enter into any explanations just at present. The papers were quite ready
in an envelope, and duly addressed, so she took them from her drawer,
and caught the next tram-car into Kirkton. The _Herald_ offices were in
Corporation Street, a business part of the city she did not know at all,
but she thought she could find it. She felt rather adventurous and
decidedly naughty, for she was not supposed to go on expeditions by
herself without first asking leave at home, to say nothing of having run
away from St. Cyprian's.
She left the tram at the High Street corner, and turned down Corporation
Street. The town was very crowded, and she was almost jostled off the
pavement by the numbers of people who were passing to and fro. By dint
of asking a policeman she at last found the offices of the _Kirkton
Herald_. She did not know whether she was expected to ring, knock, or
walk in, but she could see no bell, and as business men kept passing in
and out by a large swinging door, she plucked up her courage, and
followed in the wake of a new-comer. She had done the right thing, for
she found herself in a big room, having a counter like a bank to divide
clerks from customers. She handed in her envelope with a timid enquiry
as to whether it was in time.
"Just in time," was the reply. "We close the box-office department at
four-thirty."
With a sigh of intense relief, Mildred watched the clerk place her
communication in a pigeonhole. So it was safe, and she had not betrayed
her trust after all. She felt the satisfaction was worth almost any
amount of scolding. She turned leisurely to leave the office, when the
big door swung open, and she found herself face to face with no less a
person than Herr Hoffmann. Most egregiously caught, Mildred turned
crimson, and would have beaten a swift retreat had not the Professor
barred the way.
"So, Miss Lancaster! I find you here! Are you then having a violin
lesson from ze newspaper? I wait half an hour for you at ze school, and
you not come! How is it you fail to-day to be at your lesson?"
Mildred blushed still redder, tried to stammer an excuse, then seeing a
twinkle of amusement gleaming under Herr Hoffmann's bushy eyebrows, she
took a sudden resolution, and blurted out the truth. She made her little
story as short as possible, and the Professor nodded his head with
German gravity at the principal points. When she had finished, he
chuckled softly.
"So you would turn poets at St. Cyprian's, and write songs in praise of
tea? You shall show me ze verses? Yes, some day. But while you write ze
poetry, ze violin does not make progress. To-day we were to have taken
ze concerto and ze 'Fruehlingslied'. Is it not so?"
"Yes," murmured Mildred, much abashed.
"I like not that you miss your lesson. You shall come to me to-morrow at
my house, No. 50 Basil Street, and I will hear you play ze concerto.
Yes, at four-thirty. You will be there?"
"Oh, thank you!" said Mildred. "Yes, of course I'll come. It's very good
of you to make up the lesson."
"Some day you shall read me ze tea verses. Miss Cartwright, is she also
satisfied for you to miss school?" said Herr Hoffmann, with a friendly
nod, as he dismissed his pupil and turned to the counter.
Mildred hurried home, feeling that she had not only Miss Cartwright to
reckon with, but her aunt as well. She had a very open, truthful
disposition, and did not dream of concealing her escapade. She told Mrs.
Graham the exact facts as they had occurred.
"I just had to do it, Tantie dear! I don't see how I could possibly have
done anything else."
Fortunately for Mildred, though Mrs. Graham shook her head, she did not
take a severe view of the matter.
"It's extremely good of Herr Hoffmann to make up the lesson," she
remarked. "You must try to get in an extra half-hour's practice to-day,
so as to have the concerto better prepared. You really don't deserve
that he should give up his time to you."
"I'm rather scared at the prospect of going to his house," confessed
Mildred. "But I will have an extra tussle with the concerto to-night. I
hope he won't ask to see the tea verses."
At five minutes to nine on the following morning, Mildred walked into
Miss Cartwright's study, and tendered an explanation of her absence the
afternoon before, together with an apology for her behaviour.
"It was a hard case, I own," said the Principal. "But why did you not
come at once to me, and ask leave? If I pass over it, you must not let
this prove a precedent, Mildred. It would never do for girls to walk out
of school just when they like."
"I know. I ought to have come and asked. But somehow I never thought of
it. I was in such a hurry, I could do nothing but rush home for the
papers. I'll never do it again, Miss Cartwright, on my honour."
"Very well; as you have told me of it yourself, and apologized, I'll say
no more about it. You can go."
Mildred passed from the study, congratulating herself that she had
escaped so easily. She told her thrilling story to the other members of
the syndicate, and they rejoiced together that the competition was
received in time.
"When shall we hear the result?" asked Myrtle.
"Not for weeks, I expect. Besides, I don't really suppose that anything
will come of it," returned Mildred.
CHAPTER VI
A Chance Meeting
When afternoon school was over, Mildred, carrying her violin in its neat
leather case, set off for No. 50 Basil Street. It was not very far away
from St. Cyprian's, so she arrived in good time--too early, in fact, for
the church clock opposite was only chiming a quarter-past four as she
pushed open the gate. There was no mistake about the house, for on the
door was a brass plate inscribed "Professor Franz Hoffmann, Teacher of
Music", and she could hear from within the halting performance of a
violoncellist.
She rang the bell, and after a servant had ushered her in, she was met
in the hall by Mrs. Hoffmann, who asked her to come and wait in the
dining-room until her teacher should be ready for her. Mrs. Hoffmann was
a thin, worried-looking little woman, most palpably English. She knew no
language but her own, and had no desire to acquire any other, regarding
German as the tongue into which her husband relapsed when more than
usually annoyed, and therefore better to be ignored than understood.
Perhaps she wished sometimes that such a thing as music did not exist,
since from morning till night the strains of violin or piano seemed to
echo through the house. The wearying monotony of scales played by
leaden-fingered learners, or the excruciating sounds produced by
beginners on the violin, were, as a rule, punctuated by shouts from the
exasperated master, who, being of a naturally excitable disposition, was
liable to let his impatience get the better of him, and would storm at
his pupils in a mixture of German and English calculated to reduce them
to utter subjection.
"Young Mr. Hardcastle is having his lesson," explained the Professor's
wife. "I'm afraid he hasn't come very well prepared," she added
nervously, as a specially badly-rendered shake provoked a perfect
explosion of wrath, quite audible through the thin wall. Mildred was
left alone to wait, so she sat down by the window, listening to the
performance of the pupil in the next room. She groaned as she marked his
wolf notes and his lagging time, fearing that his sins might afterwards
be visited on her head. She was doubtful about her own concerto, and
wished she had had more time to practise one particularly-difficult
phrase. She tried to amuse herself by turning over some piles of music
that lay on the table, or staring aimlessly out at the sparrows in the
front garden.
A smart motor-car stopping at the Professor's gate presently attracted
her notice, and she looked on with interest as a handsomely-dressed lady
got out, walked hastily up the path, and rang the bell with a lusty
peal. There seemed to be a short colloquy in the hall, then the
dining-room door was flung open, and the servant ushered in a stranger,
who, it appeared, must also wait until Herr Hoffmann should be at
leisure to attend to her. She seated herself in an arm-chair, and for
some minutes there was dead silence, broken only by the ticking of the
clock and the rasping notes of Mr. Hardcastle's violoncello.
Probably finding the situation rather oppressive, the lady, after
looking several times at Mildred, seemed anxious to open a conversation.
"I suppose you're one of Herr Hoffmann's pupils," she began, with a
glance at the violin-case which lay on the table. "May I ask if you've
learnt from him for some time?"
"About five years," replied Mildred, wishing the Professor would hurry,
for she always felt shy with strangers.
"Indeed! Then you must have begun young. How old were you when you took
your first lesson?"
"Not quite seven; but I learnt from a lady to begin with," said Mildred,
listening to Mrs. Hoffmann's step in the passage, and wondering if she
were coming to the rescue.
"My little girl's much older than that--she's nearly eleven. I'm sure
she ought to commence her lessons at once. I should have sent her to
Herr Hoffmann long ago, but she's such a nervous child, and I've always
heard he's so very severe. Now, as you've learnt from him for so many
years, you'll be able to tell me exactly what he's like. Do you find him
a kind teacher or not?"
Poor Mildred scarcely knew what to reply.
"He makes you work," she stammered, hoping, for the Professor's sake,
that the remainder of the unlucky Mr. Hardcastle's lesson might go with
sufficient smoothness not to give rise to any more expressions of noisy
indignation from the adjacent room, and looking anxiously at the clock.
"So I expect. And how long do you practise every day?"
"Two hours at my violin, and one at the piano."
"I should never persuade Dorothea to do that!" cried the lady. "But
perhaps just at first an hour would be sufficient for her. Is this some
of your music? May I look at it?"
Without waiting for permission, she took up the pieces which Mildred had
laid on the table by the side of her case, and was beginning to turn
them over when she stopped, evidently struck by the name "Mildred
Lorraine Lancaster" written on the covers.
"Excuse my asking," she said, looking up quickly, "but Lorraine is such
an unusual name that I wonder if you are any relation of the Lorraines
of Castleford Towers?"
"Sir Darcy Lorraine is my uncle," replied Mildred rather stiffly, for
she thought the question inquisitive.
"How very interesting! I frequently visit Lady Lorraine; my sister's
home is in that neighbourhood. Isn't the Towers a beautiful old place?"
"I believe so," said Mildred briefly.
"I suppose you often stay there, though I don't remember having seen you
before?"
"I've never been there at all," returned Mildred, wondering how she
could stop the conversation.
"Really! And yet you must be just about the same age as Violet, and Sir
Darcy is always regretting that she has no companions. Are you older or
younger than she is?"
"I'm not sure," murmured Mildred, much embarrassed.
"Now I look at you," continued the lady, "I notice a most distinct
likeness, though your eyes are brown, and Violet is so very fair, isn't
she?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know? Why, surely you've seen your own cousin?"
"No, I haven't," said Mildred, getting quite desperate, "I've never met
any of them in my life."
"How very strange!" exclaimed the lady. "Surely Sir Darcy and Lady
Lorraine----"
But here, to Mildred's intense relief, the door opened, and the
Professor entered, bland, smiling, and full of apologies. Patting his
pupil's shoulder with the fatherly air that generally impressed parents,
he asked her to wait for him in his study for a few minutes. She caught
up her violin, and retired thankfully, wondering whether she had said
too much. Until now it had not occurred to her to think at all about her
mother's relations; but she saw how curious it must appear to a stranger
that she should never have seen either them or their home, and for the
first time she experienced a feeling of something like anger at their
neglect. It had been humiliating to be obliged to confess that she knew
nothing of a cousin whose existence indeed she had scarcely been aware
of till to-day. Though her aunt had told her a few details about the
Lorraines, the subject had been so closely connected with her father's
sad story that she had not liked to reopen it by asking further
questions. She had been quite content to regard herself as the adopted
daughter of the Grahams, and had not identified herself in any way with
her more aristocratic connections in the north.
She considered that the lady had taken rather a liberty in asking her so
many questions, and heartily wished her full name had not been written
upon her music, thus giving an opening for the enquiries.
"Well, after all, it doesn't much matter. I don't suppose I shall ever
see her again," she mused.
It was, however, a strange coincidence which had brought about that
afternoon's meeting, and it was to be fraught with more consequences
than she suspected. It is seldom we realize the small beginnings that
often determine great changes; and as Mildred dismissed the matter from
her mind, she little foresaw that from a ten-minutes' conversation might
issue events that were to form a crisis in her life.
Meantime Herr Hoffmann, having escorted his visitor to the waiting
motor, entered his study once more, and the lesson began. The prospect
of a new pupil had perhaps soothed the Professor's mind, for he was in a
far better humour than Mildred had dared to expect. The eyes behind the
big spectacles beamed upon her quite amiably, and the large collar,
which he had a habit of crumpling up when annoyed, was stiff and
immaculate. Mildred generally regarded her master's collar as a
storm-signal, and could gauge his temper by its condition the moment she
caught sight of it. As she was sure it must have suffered very much
during Mr. Hardcastle's lesson, she could only conclude that he must
have donned a fresh one before interviewing his caller, and hoped
devoutly that her own playing would not cause him to disarrange its
spotless expanse.
She went through her exercises and study to-day without any mishaps, and
with a few misgivings began the concerto. But here she did not fare so
badly as she had feared. To her surprise the troublesome bars came quite
easily, and catching the spirit of the music, she played it with such
vigour and expression that the Professor nodded his head in stately
approval.
"So! You have worked!" he said. "It is not yet perfect, but it make
progress. You take more pains since these last weeks? Yes? Oh, I can
tell! I do know when a pupil does her sehr best. Sometimes you come to
me and do say you have practise two hours each day. But I find you not
improved. Why? Because it is practice without ze mind. Of what avail is
it, I ask, for ze fingers to play if ze attention is not there? If you
would a musician be, you must have both ze body and ze soul of your
piece. Ze right notes, ze true time, ze correct position of your bow,
they are ze flesh without which ze composition cannot at all exist, and
need your altogether utmost care. But there are many people who know
nothing beyond. Himmel! Any mechanical instrument can grind out a tune.
True music is to give ze world what it cannot make for itself. Ze great
composers leave to you indeed ze score of their works, but it is ze
beautiful body without life, and it is you who must put into it a soul!"
Herr Hoffmann so seldom gave any words of encouragement that Mildred
flushed with pleasure, and ventured to tell him that she had made an
effort to conquer the difficulties in the "Fruehlingslied", which she had
thought before it was quite impossible ever to accomplish.
"That is good! We will hear what you can do," declared the Professor,
opening out the music, and tuning his own violin, ready to accompany
her. "Begin gently. Wait! Imagine ze 'cello which is here introducing ze
motif. Now you come in and take up ze melody. Let it sing, for it is
like a joyous bird, carolling on ze topmost bough. It is a
'Fruehlingslied'--ze song of spring--and you must make your instrument to
tell of ze blossom time. Quick! That shake is too slow. Remember it is
ze bird that is trilling. Now softly! Softly! Let it die away, before
all ze orchestra burst into ze chorus. Das ist sehr gut, mein Kindlein!
We will rehearse it again, and if you can master ze staccato passage,
you shall perform it at my students' concert."
"Oh, I couldn't! I couldn't!" cried Mildred in alarm. "Please don't ask
me. I should break down. I know I should."
"Unsinn!" (which is German for "stuff and nonsense") cried the
Professor. "You will do what I say. Am I your teacher, and you refuse to
play when I tell you? Nein! You shall work at ze 'Fruehlingslied', and
each Saturday afternoon you shall come to rehearse it with my students'
orchestra at ze Philharmonic Hall. Yes, I have said it!"
[Illustration: HERR HOFFMANN TELLS MILDRED THAT SHE IS TO PLAY AT THE
PUBLIC RECITAL IN THE TOWN HALL]
Mildred went home completely overwhelmed by her master's suggestion. The
public recital given every year in the Town Hall by Herr Hoffmann's best
pupils was a great event, at which many of the most critical music
lovers in the city were generally present. It was well known that only
students of unusual talent were allowed to take solo parts. The
Professor was a very celebrated teacher, and had a reputation to keep
up. So far, though St. Cyprian's made a particular cult of music, and
Herr Hoffmann had taught there for many years, no girl had ever been
judged worthy to play at this special annual concert. It was an honour
to which even their wildest ambition had not aspired. To be thus chosen
out, over the heads of Ella Martin and Elizabeth Chalmers, who were
considered the "show" music pupils of the school, was a prospect
calculated to agitate the most sober brains. But there was another side
to it. To play such an important piece as the "Fruehlingslied", which
needed to be accompanied by a full orchestra, was indeed an ordeal for a
girl hardly sixteen years of age. A public audience in the Town Hall was
a different matter from the comparatively small gatherings of parents
and friends at St. Cyprian's. The mere thought of it filled Mildred with
nervous horror.
"I don't believe I could ever do it, Tantie," she shivered, as she
discussed the project with her aunt. "I should turn tail and run away
when I saw all the people. Need I? Can't I tell the Professor I won't?"
"It would be a sad pity to do that, and would be wasting a great
opportunity. When Herr Hoffmann has shown such a special interest in
you, it would be most ungrateful to refuse at least to try your hardest
to please him. He is the best judge of what you can do, and you may be
sure that he will not allow you to play at the concert unless you have
given satisfaction at the rehearsals. Both he and Miss Cartwright have
taken great pains with your music, and I think you owe it to St.
Cyprian's to show that their trouble has not been thrown away. You must
speak about it to Miss Cartwright to-morrow, and ask her opinion."
When Mildred broached the idea next morning, she found that the
Principal heartily sided with Herr Hoffmann, and even made arrangements
for her to have extra time at school for violin practice. She was to be
allowed to omit certain classes, and to be excused various weekly
essays, and her piano studies were for the next few weeks to yield place
to the instrument upon which she showed the greater talent.
"Remember you will be playing for the credit of St. Cyprian's," said
Miss Cartwright. "You must work both for yourself and for the sake of
the school."
When the news leaked out of the honour that was in store for Mildred,
the girls received it in various ways. Ella Martin and Elizabeth
Chalmers congratulated her, and urged her to do her best. Correct
players themselves, they were above any narrow feelings of jealousy, and
were glad to see Mildred, whom they had hitherto thought inclined to be
lazy, pushed forward and made to take pains. The general opinion of her
own Form was divided. Music was so decidedly of first importance at St.
Cyprian's that the matter naturally made a little stir. A number of the
girls did not appreciate Mildred's real talent, and gave all their
admiration to Lottie Lowman's more superficial performances.
"It's absurd," said Eve Mitchell. "Why should Mildred Lancaster be
chosen above everyone else? I can't see that she's so musical. She
missed three questions in the harmony yesterday. Her theory's dreadfully
shaky. Why isn't Lottie asked to play?"
"Well, you see, it's violin," ventured Nell Hayward.
"Then Ella Martin's our crack player. It's very unpleasant for Ella to
be passed over."
"I suppose that's Professor Hoffmann's affair," said Bess Harrison,
taking up the cudgels on Mildred's behalf. "He'd have asked Ella if he'd
wanted her."
"Think how tremendously it will make us score in the Alliance," urged
Maudie Stearne. "I don't for a moment suppose that even the High School
or the Anglo-German will have a girl playing at the Professor's concert.
We'll beat them there, even if they take it out of us at games."
"Lottie may be our delegate, but Mildred's our music champion just now,"
declared Clarice Mayfield.
"We've got to keep her at it, though," added Bess.
It was a new thing to Mildred to work diligently and painstakingly as
she had done for the last few weeks. It was quite against her natural
inclination, and I fear that if it had not been for the thought of what
St. Cyprian's expected from her, she would never have kept it up. As it
was, she felt almost astonished at her own perseverance. Time after time
she was tempted not to trouble about the "Fruehlingslied", but to play
instead the tunes that came into her mind, and enjoy herself.
"After all, why should one fag so terribly at a thing? I hate slogging,"
she confided to her chum, Kitty Fletcher.
"Why? Because you owe it to yourself and the school," exclaimed Kitty.
"If I'd your talent, I'd be slaving. Do you think I'd do anything in
games if I didn't train? Mildred Lancaster, you've just got to try. Some
day I'm going to see your name painted on the board in the lecture hall,
so please don't disappoint me."
There was a large board at St. Cyprian's on which were recorded the
successes of former pupils who had gained distinction either by taking
university or musical degrees. To find, some time, "Mildred Lancaster"
emblazoned thereon in gold letters was an attractive goal of ambition.
But between the present and that rosy prospect lay a long, dreary
expanse of continual effort--effort which Mildred's artistic temperament
hated and shrank from, the drudgery upon which every solid achievement
must be built, and without which even the cleverest of people can
accomplish little.
CHAPTER VII
A School Eisteddfod
After the founding of the United Alliance, the six schools composing the
league had been allowed a certain amount of time in which to organize
their separate departments, but now that the various societies were
going concerns it was judged expedient to hold a central meeting of
delegates, so that arrangements might be made for the contests and
competitions which were to form the principal feature of the movement.
The conference was to take place at the High School on a Wednesday
afternoon, and due notice of the event had been sent to the branch
secretaries. The ten delegates from St. Cyprian's were naturally much
elated at the prospect, and anxious to do their best on behalf of their
College. They were armed with full authority from Miss Cartwright, and
prepared with a list of vacant dates when matches could be played.
Wearing their school hats, ties, and badges, they started off together,
under the leadership of Phillis Garnett, the head girl, and presented
themselves at the High School at the time named on the general
secretary's post card.
Wednesday was a half-holiday at the High School, so the delegates had
the place to themselves. Ten smiling hostesses were waiting to receive
the representatives of the other schools, and gave them a hearty
welcome. When the first introductions were over, Ethel Edwards, the head
girl of the High School, was voted to the chair, and, having made a few
general remarks upon the object of the Alliance, proposed that each
branch should withdraw to a separate classroom to discuss details for
half an hour, after which they would all meet again in the lecture hall.
So the schools split up their forces, and marched away in groups of
twelve, representing the Musical, Literary, Dramatic, Arts, and
Athletics subdivisions of the league. The delegates had all come
prepared to be courteous, businesslike, and accommodating, so the thirty
minutes passed in good-tempered discussion, and by the time they took
their places once more in the big hall they seemed on excellent terms
with one another. The results of their consultations, with probable
dates, were handed to Ethel Edwards, who rapidly compared them, and drew
up a final table which she put to the general vote.
"I am glad we have been able to make our arrangements fit in so well,"
she said, "and I hope we shall have many competitions and matches as the
result of this afternoon's work. I am sure we all agree that the
Alliance is an excellent movement, and that a spirit of co-operation
among the principal Kirkton schools is highly desirable. Though each
delegate represents her own school, all are united in representing the
city, and some time in the future we may, as a body, enter into
competition with similar Alliances in other towns. It certainly opens up
a vista of very interesting work on our part, and should prevent those
evils of narrowness and cliquishness which a too-exclusive policy is apt
to develop in a school. Let us determine that our _entente cordiale_ is
for the general good, and each try our utmost to make the Alliance a
huge success. I need hardly say with what pleasure the High School has
to-day welcomed the other delegates, and am glad to note that our first
Eisteddfod of the season is to be held here shortly. Our general
secretary will forward copies of the programme to each branch secretary
as speedily as possible, and due notice will of course be given of the
next committee meeting."
The delegates dispersed, feeling that they had had a very satisfactory
conference. Each department was pledged to something definite. The
"Games" had arranged a list of cricket matches and tennis tournaments,
and had even discussed plans for next autumn's hockey; the "Dramatic"
had undertaken to produce a united performance in aid of the Kirkton
Children's Hospital; the "Literary" was to publish a joint magazine
three times a year, under the title of _The Alliance Journal_; the "Arts
and Handicrafts" was to hold a grand exhibition in the forthcoming
November, charging a small admission so as to be able to send a donation
to the "Guild of Play", an organization for the children of the slums;
while the "Musical", to test its capabilities, was to have an immediate
general festival. In addition, the schools had promised to form a Guild
of Needlework, to make garments for charities; a Christmas Santa Claus
Club, to distribute toys among various Ragged Schools in the city; and a
Scrap Book League, the results of which were to be sent to the
Children's Ward at the Royal Infirmary.
It was part of the scheme of the Alliance that the mistresses, while
reviewing and sanctioning the arrangements, should keep in the
background and allow affairs to be managed as far as possible by the
girls themselves. Miss Cartwright, therefore, after hearing the report
of the St. Cyprian's delegates, gave full permission to the Musical
Society to prepare its own programme for the forthcoming concert, which
was to be in no way a public affair, but merely a friendly trial of
skill amongst the six schools. Thirty members from each were to meet and
compete at the High School, which possessed the largest hall. Owing to
limited space it was impossible to accommodate a very big audience, but
fifty guests were to be invited from each school, so as to make a fairly
representative body of listeners.
The St. Cyprian's Musical Committee assembled at once under the
leadership of its delegates to arrange for the important event.
"Please tell us, first of all, why the thing's to be called an
Eisteddfod," begged Nora Whitehead.
Ella Martin laughed.
"You've evidently not been in Wales. Have you never heard of the great
Welsh Eisteddfods, where all the famous choirs go and sing against each
other for prizes?"
"Oh, a choral festival!"
"No, not quite that, because there are solos besides. In a real genuine
big national Eisteddfod there are departments for painting and for
poetry. They make bards, you know, and give them Bardic chairs. Well,
we can't do all that in one afternoon; we have to take each branch
separately, so the music's to come first. We decided that each school is
to learn the part song, 'Now Cheerful Spring Returns', and to sing it
one after another. Mr. Jordan, from the Freiburg College of Music, is to
be asked to judge; he will give so many marks to each choir, for
correctness, tone, general expression, &c. Then each school is to give a
ten-minutes' concert, consisting of a few pieces by its brightest stars.
These will also be judged and marked, so much for each performer. The
totals will be added to the choir scores, and then we shall have the
excitement of seeing which school comes out top."
"St. Cyprian's will! It must!"
"We'd better not make too sure. There are some clever girls at the
Anglo-German, I hear, and the Templeton 'Choral' is good."
"What we've got to do," said Lottie Lowman, "is to learn our part song,
and practise it for all we're worth. Hadn't we better decide first who's
to be choir-mistress? Shall we put it to the vote?"
There was little hesitation amongst the girls. They voted almost solidly
for Lottie. Since her election as delegate for the Alliance she had
taken such a principal part in the musical society that everybody was
ready to follow her lead. There were a few dissenting voices, who
ventured to suggest that her style was not of the best, nor truly
representative of the musical standard of St. Cyprian's, but these were
completely overwhelmed by the majority. Lottie, who had already on her
own initiative organized a choir, was surely the most fitted to look
after the laurels of the school, and might be trusted to undertake the
teaching of the part song. There now remained the programme of the
ten-minutes' concert to be discussed.
"It's such a fearfully short time!" growled Elizabeth Chalmers.
"Of course it is," returned Lottie, "but you see six schools with ten
minutes each make an hour. The part songs will take half an hour, and
allowing another half-hour for judging and intervals between pieces, we
get two hours, and that's the limit. No, each school has promised on its
honour not to exceed the ten minutes. Indeed, we arranged that to do so
would mean to be disqualified from the competition. It seemed the only
fair way."
"Then we must cram all the best talent of the school into those precious
ten minutes."
"That's the real state of affairs," said Ella Martin, "and we've got to
make up our minds which is the best talent. I myself propose a violin
solo from Mildred Lancaster."
"And I beg to object strongly!" returned Lottie Lowman. "Mildred may be
a good player--I don't say she isn't--but everyone at the Coll. knows
she's not to be depended upon. If she gets a nervous fit, ten to one
she'll break down altogether, like she did last speech day, and then St.
Cyprian's would look silly! Unless she's exactly in the right mood she
doesn't do herself justice, and is the honour of the Coll. to depend on
her whim of the moment? No, most emphatically, I beg you to choose a
steadier, more reliable player. Who could be more suitable than Ella,
who is already your musical delegate, and ought surely to represent
you?"
Lottie's arguments swayed the committee so entirely that Ella was
immediately chosen for the violin solo, and her name placed first on the
programme.
"I shall only play a very short Prelude," she announced, "so we ought to
have a piano solo and a song to make up our ten minutes. That would give
a good all-round idea of the musical work at St. Cyprian's, quite as
all-round as the other schools will have the opportunity for, at any
rate."
After a short discussion upon the relative merits of several names which
were submitted, the committee decided upon Elizabeth Chalmers for the
piano solo and Lottie Lowman for the song. There was not much time to be
lost, as the Eisteddfod had been fixed for a date only ten days ahead.
The choir must be carefully selected and trained, and special practices
arranged for. Miss Cartwright had promised to allow a short time daily
during school hours for this purpose, and extra work could be done
during the midday interval by those girls who stayed for dinner at the
College.
"Who are your soloists?" asked Kitty Fletcher as, the meeting over, the
committee sought the playground.
"Ella, Elizabeth, and your humble servant," replied Lottie.
"Do you mean to tell me Mildred Lancaster's not to play for St.
Cyprian's?"
"No, Mildred's out of it altogether."
"Then all I can say is, I'm heartily sorry for the credit of the old
Coll. I think you're a set of duffers!"
"Thanks! Perhaps you'll allow us to arrange your teams in the Games
department, as you're so anxious to meddle in ours? We'll choose your
captains and champions if you choose our soloists. It would be an
admirably suitable division of labour."
Kitty turned away, for there was justice in Lottie's sarcasm. She would
not have been prepared to admit any interference in the cricket or
tennis programme, and she knew that she had no right to criticize the
decisions of the other committees. And yet her whole sense of justice
rebelled against Mildred's exclusion.
"It's monstrous!" she confided to Bess Harrison. "Here they're actually
discarding their trump card! And it's nothing but Lottie's jealousy!
She's green with envy because Mildred's to play at Herr Hoffmann's
Students' Concert. I thought we were urged to put aside all petty
feelings and spites in the interests of the Coll., and just aim to bring
St. Cyprian's out top!"
"That was rubbed into us as our motto."
"We keep to it in Games, thank goodness! For some reasons I wish Miss
Cartwright hadn't left the Alliance so entirely in our own hands."
"It's the same as the other schools. Neither principals nor mistresses
are to regulate matters. Remember, it's a self-governing institution."
"Well, this branch of it hasn't the wit to know its own best asset,"
grumbled Kitty.
Mildred felt decidedly hurt to be so entirely left out of the
Eisteddfod. She was not even asked to join in the part song, for Lottie,
as choir-mistress, had the selection of the chorus. There was perhaps
reason in this, for Mildred, though she always sang in tune, did not
possess a very strong voice. All the same, it was a marked omission, and
an intentional slight.
Lottie, as grand vizier of the proceedings, was now in her element. She
assumed such complete direction of everything that she even took
precedence of Ella Martin. Ella, though a monitress, never pushed her
authority, and indeed was sometimes hardly self-assertive enough for her
post. On the present occasion she allowed Lottie to seize the reins
rather too easily. The matter was discussed by her fellow monitresses.
"A Fifth Form girl ought not to be allowed to run the whole show," said
Hilda Smith. "Ella ought to put her foot down!"
"Lottie's getting swollen head!" agreed Gertie Raeburn.
If Lottie's motives were mixed, to do her justice she certainly worked
very hard in her new capacity as choir-mistress. She was as zealous as a
Parliamentary whip in making her chorus attend practices, and drilling
them while they were there. Most of the girls found her a harder
taskmaster than Mr. Hiller, the singing teacher, and she indulged in a
running fire of comments on their performance completely at variance
with his suave suggestions.
"Now then, heads up!" she would say. "You all stand with your noses in
your books like a set of dolls that have lost their saw-dust! We'll take
that verse again, and put a little more spirit into it. Can't you sing
louder? I suppose you've learnt that _cres._ stands for crescendo? Then
please remember that the signs mean something, and don't drone away
like a set of Buddhist lamas intoning a chant!"
And the girls would laugh, for they rather enjoyed her racy remarks,
even though they were delivered at their expense. Lottie, in the flush
of her popularity, could not resist pressing her triumph over Mildred.
She invited her to a practice one day, and enjoyed showing her authority
over her pupils before her rival. Having exhibited their docility to her
utmost satisfaction, she dismissed them, and turned carelessly to
Mildred.
"Not such a bad little business for a beginning!" she remarked. "The
Coll. will take its right place at the Eisteddfod, I fancy."
"I hope so, I'm sure," returned Mildred, without enthusiasm.
"Oh, you'll see it'll come out top side! Now tell me candidly what you
think of this part song."
"Do you really want my candid opinion?"
"Of course I do!"
"Then I think everything's wrong with it. In the first place, the second
sopranos are out of tune continually. You hurry the time too much in the
middle, and drag it towards the end, and when you urge the girls to sing
crescendo, you let them shout in the most atrocious fashion--like
street-singers! There's nothing artistic about it at all."
"I might have known you'd be sure to find fault!" sneered Lottie. "It's
very easy to pick holes in other folk's work. No doubt the high and
mighty Mildred Lancaster would have made a most superior business of it!
People always think if they'd had the reins they could have driven the
kicking horse!"
"You asked for my candid opinion!" retorted Mildred.
"I didn't say I'd follow it, though. Fortunately I'm the choir-mistress,
and not you."
It happened that Ella Martin and a few more Sixth Form girls had come
into the room during this colloquy, and Ella now put in her oar.
"There's a good deal in what Mildred says, Lottie," she observed. "I
noticed yesterday that the second sopranos were out of tune; and you
certainly let them shout too loud. They're not using their voices
properly. It's dreadfully second-rate style. I was going to speak to you
about it. It doesn't do credit to the Coll."
"We've all noticed it," urged Dorrie Barlow.
"The quality of the voices will be a point before the judge," said
Kathleen Hodson. "Mr. Hiller is so particular on that score."
"Well, if this is all the thanks I get for my trouble, I wish I'd kept
out of the musical society," responded Lottie, with a red patch in each
cheek and a gleam of temper in her hazel eyes. "No doubt you'd all have
done it better yourselves."
"No, don't say that," replied Ella. "You must allow that I, at any rate,
have the right to criticize. We all appreciate your hard work, only we
want it to be in the right direction, and not thrown away. St. Cyprian's
has a big reputation to keep up. Suppose you just think over what we've
suggested."
Lottie turned away rather huffily. She could not help acknowledging
Ella's right to interfere, but she was annoyed that the rebuke should be
given in Mildred's presence. She was at first inclined to stick to her
guns, then apparently she thought better of it, took her chorus in
hand, and remedied their very palpable shortcomings. Ella, realizing her
responsibilities, made opportunity to drop in during rehearsals, so as
to keep a check upon things, and thanks to her influence the part song
soon began to show marked improvement, and to be more worthy of St.
Cyprian's musical reputation.
Though Mildred was not included among the performers, she at least
received an invitation to the Eisteddfod. The guests were to start all
together from the College, and they looked forward to the event with
considerable keenness. On the day of the festival those who stayed to
dinner at school spent the interval discussing the occasion. Olwen and
Megan Roberts, who boasted Welsh ancestry, and had been present at a
real Eisteddfod in the Principality, scored by their superior knowledge.
"Of course it can't be anything like what we had at
Llanfairdisiliogoch!" they bragged.
"Oh, no! Nothing's right out of Welsh Wales!" laughed Maggie Orton.
"You've often told us that!"
"I know a lovely song about an Eisteddfod," chirruped Bess Harrison, and
to the tune of "The Ash Grove" she began:
"I wass go to Pwlleli,
Where I mingled in the dreadful melee,
And was very nearly squashed to a jelly
With the peoples treading on my toes:
The Welshies they wass there by millions,
All sitting in the big pavilions
To listen to the sweet cantilions
As you wass suppose!"
At that point she wisely dodged away; and Olwen and Megan, giving chase,
pursued her round the playground, where she ran, still chanting
tauntingly:
"There wass Owenses and Hugheses,
And Robertses and Joneses,
All singing in their native toneses
All over the ground!"
till the twins at length caught her up, and administered summary justice
in revenge for the slight on their nationality.
Punctually at two o'clock those who had been chosen to attend the
Eisteddfod set out for the High School. The performers were ushered into
special rooms reserved for them, and the others were given seats with
the rest of the audience in the large hall. Miss Stewart, the
Head-mistress, took her place on the platform, together with the
Principals of the other five schools and Mr. Jordan, from the Freiburg
College of Music, who was to act as judge. No time was to be lost if the
whole of the programme was to be carried through, so the choral
competition began at once. Lots had to be drawn as to the order in which
the schools should sing, and the Anglo-German had secured the first
innings. Their chorus accordingly took its place on the platform and
commenced the test piece. They did well, and as they retired to make
room for Newington Green, the second on the list, the St. Cyprian's
contingent acknowledged to themselves that the Alliance contained
formidable rivals. To anybody unaccustomed to festival singing it was
extremely confusing to hear one choir after another render the same part
song, but Mr. Jordan was no novice at his task, and well knew how to
appraise their merits. He sat with paper and pencil, jotting down their
respective points as to time, tune, tone and quality of voice,
expression and general spirit, so many marks to each, and appeared as
calm and collected and unmoved as if he were valuing goods for an
auction.
"He doesn't show the least enthusiasm," whispered Mildred to Kitty, who
sat next to her. "If it had been the Professor who was judging, he'd
have been hopping about the platform."
"I suppose it's Mr. Jordan's role to look quite disinterested and
impartial," returned Kitty.
St. Cyprian's was last on the list, and perhaps even Lottie
congratulated herself that she had taken Ella's advice and improved the
standard of her chorus, for the other schools had sung so well that the
College would have to look to its laurels. She hastily whispered a few
last directions as they took their places, and perhaps for the first
time in her life felt a tremor of nervousness as they broke into the
opening bars of "Now Cheerful Spring Returns". Fortunately the girls had
remembered their instructions; the second sopranos kept well up to
pitch, the time did not drag, and the crescendo passage was rendered
with due regard to tone. Lottie breathed more freely when it was over.
She cast an enquiring look at Mr. Jordan, but his expression was
inscrutable. He merely jotted down some figures, and gave the signal of
dismissal.
After this followed the series of ten-minutes' concerts, in which each
school exhibited its best stars. It was of course an extremely short
limit, but it was wonderful how much was accomplished in the time. The
Anglo-German had concentrated all its energies on two brilliant
pianoforte pieces, Marston Grove High School boasted a girl with a
remarkably rich and strong contralto voice, Templeton had quite a fair
violin solo, the High School scored at a piano duet, and Newington Green
School had for champion a girl of about fourteen who played the
violoncello. St. Cyprian's, with its piano, violin, and vocal solos, was
felt to have given a very all-sided performance. Ella played
brilliantly, if coldly; Elizabeth Chalmers's nocturne was correct to a
note; and Lottie sang the rather sentimental ballad she had chosen with
much expression and display of feeling. Her confidence stood her in good
stead, for the Marston Grove contralto had been palpably nervous, and
had almost broken down at one point.
Mr. Jordan rapidly added up the marks gained by each school, putting
chorus and concert scores both together. Then, rising, he announced the
results:
Out of a maximum of 280 marks:
St. Cyprian's College, 230 marks
The Anglo-German School, 220 "
The Templeton School, 195 "
The Kirkton High School, 195 "
The Newington Green School, 180 "
The Marston Grove High School, 165 "
The St. Cyprian's girls felt just a little crest-fallen. They had won,
to be sure, but it was by a very narrow majority. They had not scored
quite the signal success which, considering the amount of time that the
College devoted to music study, might reasonably have been anticipated.
There were no prizes given for the competition, so as it was now long
past four o'clock, the Eisteddfod broke up, and the audience was
dismissed. As the girls filed from the hall, the various schools mingled
in the corridor. Kitty Fletcher and Bess Harrison happened to be walking
behind two Newington Green girls, and overheard an interesting scrap of
conversation.
"Well, what did you think of the famous St. Cyprian's?"
"Nothing up to what I'd expected. I'd heard they were so A1."
"So had I, but after all they weren't much better than the rest of us.
That fair girl played the piano like a pianola! She put no expression
into it."
"And the one who sang was vibrato all the time. I thought her rather
claptrap!"
"As for the violin, it was brilliant, and good bowing, but it didn't
appeal to me like Althea's 'cello."
"I thought they were supposed to have such a crack violin player at St.
Cyprian's--Herr Hoffmann's pet pupil at present, so they say."
"Well, if this was the girl, I don't admire her. I should say she's very
much overrated."
Kitty clutched Bess Harrison's arm close in her indignation. As soon as
they were outside the school she exploded.
"Oh, to think they never heard Mildred! And they actually imagine Ella
Martin's our crack player! It's wicked! It was suicidal for St.
Cyprian's not to put Mildred on. I can't imagine what the committee was
doing."
"The committee was swayed by Lottie," returned Bess, "and I don't think
it has altogether good reason to congratulate itself on the results.
Undoubtedly St. Cyprian's ought to have done better, and it will have to
look hard after its reputation in future."
"I shall play up at the cricket match, or I'll never touch a bat again!"
vowed Kitty. "Nulli secundus--second to none! We've got to live up to
our school motto."
CHAPTER VIII
St. Cyprian's versus Templeton
It was now more than three weeks since Mildred and the other members of
the literary syndicate had sent in their poetical effusions in praise of
tea. So far they had heard nothing of the matter, and they were
beginning to grow anxious as to the fate of their verses.
"Perhaps it was just humbug," speculated Myrtle Robinson.
"Surely nobody would go to the expense of putting an advertisement in
the _Herald_ just for humbug!" objected Mildred.
"It may be a cheat, though," suggested Maggie Orton. "Suppose they use
our poetry and never tell us?"
"If we saw it in print we'd prosecute them for breach of copyright!"
"I'm afraid it's all found its way into the waste-paper basket."
"That's more than likely."
Mildred had put her own address on the manuscripts as secretary of the
syndicate, and every day she looked hopefully at the letters which were
delivered at Meredith Terrace. One morning she arrived at school in a
state of unusual excitement, and, rushing into the dressing-room,
hailed her fellow poetesses.
"Oh jubilate! Just look here! This came only five minutes before I
started. Isn't it ripping?"
"You don't mean to say we've won the prize?" gasped Maggie Orton.
"No--not the prize! But we've got something. Quite enough to
cock-a-doodle about. Here, read what they say!"
A cluster of heads immediately collected over the letter. It was typed,
and appeared strictly businesslike. It ran thus:--
"60 KING STREET,
KIRKTON.
"DEAR MADAM,
"We are in receipt of your verses in respect of our competition for
advertising our brand of tea. Though they do not attain the level
of first prize offered, they are not bad on the whole, and we think
we might be able to use them. We are therefore willing to give you
L1, 5_s._ for the three, and would add a further 15_s._ for the
Christmas-card verses and cracker mottoes, making L2 for the lot.
We retain your verses pending your consideration of this offer, and
will forward cheque and copyright agreement should you accept it.
"Yours faithfully,
"JONES & JACKSON, LTD."
The successful authoresses turned to one another with almost incredulous
delight, and broke into open rejoicings.
"Goody! How stunning!"
"What a frolicsome joke!"
"Accept it? Ra-ther!"
"Hi-cockalorum! We're in luck!"
"I never dreamt we'd really win anything."
"We shall have to sample this tea now. We praised it up enough!"
"Write to-day, Mildred, and say 'Done!'"
"Oh, we have scored!"
Mildred received the cheque by return of post, and as her uncle kindly
cashed it for her at once, she brought two golden sovereigns to school
to exhibit to her proud co-operators. The syndicate marched at once to
the Principal's study, and, after a brief explanation, handed over the
amount for the College library. Miss Cartwright was very much
astonished, and laughed heartily as she tendered her congratulations.
"I didn't know we had so much talent at St. Cyprian's," she remarked.
"We must keep a copy of the verses. It is a very nice idea to devote the
money to the library, and I think you, who have gained it, ought to have
the choosing of the books."
"Oh, may we?" said the girls.
"Most certainly. Bring me a list of what you would like, and I will
order them from Bartholomew's."
The members of the syndicate felt themselves public benefactresses as
they consulted the rest of the Form upon the drawing up of the list.
There was naturally plenty of discussion, but in the end a dozen volumes
were selected, and made quite a valuable addition to the
not-too-well-stocked library. The incident drew attention to the
scantiness of the collection on the shelves, the monitresses took the
matter up, and it was put to the vote and carried unanimously that in
future every girl, on leaving the College, should be asked to present
two books--one for the senior and one for the junior branch--as a
parting gift to St. Cyprian's. By this method the number of volumes
would be annually increased; and though it was not compulsory, it was
thought that nobody would be likely to refuse to offer her contribution.
The Alliance had brought many new interests to the school, and now that
the Eisteddfod was over, the pendulum of excitement swung round from
music to games. It was the turn of the Athletic branch of the league,
and a cricket match had been fixed for the following Saturday afternoon
between St. Cyprian's and Templeton. It was to be held at Haselwell, a
suburb a few miles out of Kirkton, where the county matches were always
played. The Alliance, of course, could not aspire to the county ground,
but they were able to hire a very good pitch, which was often let out
for school matches, and which afforded plenty of accommodation for
spectators, including a covered stand.
Naturally St. Cyprian's team had been doing its utmost in the way of
training; and Joan Richards as captain, and Kitty Fletcher as chief
organizer of the Games department held many anxious consultations. They
congratulated themselves that they had been drawn to play their first
match against Templeton, and not against either the High School or the
Marston Grove School, both of which had acquired a well-justified
reputation in the cricket field. Of Templeton's play they knew little.
Like themselves, it had not before contested with other schools, and
beyond the fact (which Kitty had heard at the High School) that its
captain, Marjorie Rawlins, was an excellent bowler, its points were
problematical.
Joan was making her eleven concentrate its final energies on fielding,
especially on catching and throwing in, which she regarded as half the
battle.
"Some girls muff the ball, and some throw it about twenty yards, and the
next fielder has to go for it while the other side's making runs," she
affirmed. "I know you don't like fielding, but, if we want to score,
we've got to practise it."
To Joan and Kitty, as "Athletics" delegates, the success or failure of
this their first match meant much. The idea had got about at St.
Cyprian's that the College was no good at games, and they were very
anxious to correct so mistaken a notion. Once establish a precedent, and
the girls would have more confidence, and be far more strenuous at their
practices. They had never forgotten a certain rosy era of prowess under
the tuition of a former mistress, and if they could once more be brought
to the pitch of enthusiasm they had reached with Miss Pritchard, all
would surely be well for the future.
The Alliance, having taken the cricket pitch for the afternoon, issued
tickets of admission to any of its members who wished to go as
spectators, and about sixty girls from St. Cyprian's availed themselves
of the opportunity, Mildred among the number. The match was to begin at
two o'clock, so after an early lunch they went by tram-car to the city,
and caught the 1.25 train to Haselwell. Some of the girls had been there
before to see county matches, and pointed out the famous ground, with
its tiers upon tiers of wooden seats, the modern counterpart of an
ancient Roman circus. Their own pitch was not far away from the station,
and turned out to be quite well kept and satisfactory. Mildred took her
place next to Maudie Stearne on one of the benches, and looked about
her. There was a good gathering of spectators, for not only had St.
Cyprian's and Templeton girls come to watch, but a fair number from the
other schools had also turned up.
"The Coll.'s on appro. to-day," said Maudie. "I hope we shan't disgrace
ourselves before all that set from the High School."
"Joan's in a flutter!" said Mildred.
"But Kitty's as cool as a cucumber. She might be going to play her
little brothers in her own garden!"
"Good old Kit-cat! She'll do her level best, I know."
"Has Miss Harris come with Templeton?"
"No, I don't see her. I'm glad Miss Cartwright's here, though. One likes
one's Principal to see one's first match."
"They're going to toss!" exclaimed Bess Harrison excitedly.
The two captains now came forward, exchanged a few civilities, and the
orthodox penny went spinning into the air.
"Tails!" cried Marjorie Rawlins. "Tails it is! We'll bat!"
Joan lost no time in placing her field, and presently the two first bats
sallied forth from the pavilion, and St. Cyprian's scanned them
narrowly. One was short and squat, with an air of general strength
about her, and used her bat as a walking-stick as she came; the other,
tall and slim, carried her bat under her arm, and leisurely put on her
batting gloves as she walked up to the pitch.
"Gladys Fuller and Beryl Norton," volunteered Bess Harrison, who knew
something of the Templeton strength.
Beryl was to take first ball, and seemed rather nervous as the umpire
gave her her centre; then, glancing round to take a last look at the
position of the field, she prepared to face the bowling. Kitty was no
"duffer" with the leather, having been assiduously coached by a critical
brother who was in the Kirkton Grammar School eleven, and tolerated
neither lobs nor half-volleys. A moderately long run with a swinging
step brought her to the wicket; with a high overhand action she sent the
ball down the pitch at a good pace. Luckily for Beryl it was off the
wicket, as it beat her entirely. The next ball was dead straight, but
Beryl was prepared for the pace this time, and played it respectfully
back to the bowler. In fact, she was evidently not out to take risks,
and the first over proved a maiden.
Who was going to take the next over was in everyone's mind. The point
was soon settled, for Joan rolled the ball gently in the direction of
Daisy Holt. Daisy's bowling was not quite orthodox according to modern
ideas: she bowled lobs, hence her pseudonym with the team of "Lobster".
But she knew how to vary both her pace and pitch, so that her bowling
was quite dangerous. Her first ball pitched a little to the onside and
had an artful break; but Gladys, to show her contempt for "underhand",
swept round to leg, and missed it. She had failed to allow for the
break, but, luckily for her, her skirts entangled the ball, and Daisy's
instant appeal for l.b.w. was refused. Rendered wary by experience,
Gladys played her next ball more carefully, and scored a single. This
brought Beryl to the other end. It is strange how a long course of
overhand bowling induces contempt of lobs. Daisy's next ball was a
splendid one--straight, swift, and of good length; but Beryl, who seemed
to have lost all her caution, mis-timed the blind swipe she made at it,
and the next moment was walking off rather crest-fallen towards the
pavilion, amid uproarious applause from St. Cyprian's, and shouts of
"Good old Lobster!"
Maggie Lowe, the next bat, was well known as a good player. She handled
her bat with a freedom and precision which augured ill for loose
bowling, and the first half-volley that Daisy sent down she promptly
sent to the boundary. After this the score mounted slowly, runs coming
in twos and singles, and both girls seemed to gain in confidence, and
played more freely. Kitty had all this time been bowling well and
keeping a good length, though she had met with no luck as yet. Her turn
was soon to come, however. A swift rising ball slightly to the off
tempted Gladys to her destruction, and away glanced the ball to long
slip. But Jessie Hudson was ready, having profited by her training.
Would she reach it? The whole field held its breath. She's got it! No!
The ball rebounds from her hands, but she has it again before it reaches
the ground, thus bringing off a brilliant catch at the second time of
asking. Thirty one for two, last player fifteen, went up on the
board--not such a bad score after all! Templeton's captain, Marjorie
Rawlins, now came forth with a look of determination on her face. She
played with extreme care at first, but soon seemed to get her eye in,
and runs came more quickly. Forty went up, and then fifty, to a great
round of applause from Templeton. Joan now went on to bowl herself,
instead of Daisy. She bowled a good medium-pace overhand, with a very
tricky break from the off. Alas for Maggie Lowe! A well-pitched ball to
the off tempted her to step out, but she had misjudged the length and
ignored the break. The next moment her bails were flying, and she
returned to the pavilion amid hearty applause for a useful innings of
fourteen.
The next player was one of those happy-go-lucky, slashing hitters who
are always a great accession of strength to a team when their batting
comes off. She commenced hitting about her with great freedom, showing
small respect for the bowling at either end. Fortunately for St.
Cyprian's, Joan's careful training in fielding told its tale, and runs
came less freely than might have been expected. Still, the score was
mounting up steadily, and Miss Slasher seemed to be greatly enjoying
herself when a really good catch at long-on put an end to her innings.
Sixty-seven for four now went up, and St. Cyprian's began to pull rather
long faces, and wondered what Joan would do next. Joan had evidently
made up her mind, for at the next over Edna Carson appeared at the
wicket. St. Cyprian's took heart of grace, for Edna's bowling was very
peculiar. It was a sort of compromise between roundhand and underhand,
and where she had learned it nobody knew. However, it was swift and
straight, kept very low, and was by no means easy to play, and, coming
as it did after bowling which rose sharply from the pitch, it took the
batters quite by surprise. Her first ball was dead on the middle stump.
Marjorie Rawlins, who appeared to be expecting a slow, struck too late,
and the next moment Peggie Potter, the wicket-keeper, threw the ball
gleefully in the air, while the umpire sedately walked up to replace the
bails.
The next player was no more successful. She spooned an easy catch to
point, and was followed after a short interval by a fine strapping girl
who came striding up to the wicket like a boy.
"Janet Armstrong," remarked the knowing Bess Harrison; and at the very
sight of her powerful form the fielders all moved outwards, not even
waiting for the signals which Joan was so plentifully bestowing upon
them.
Janet took her block composedly, and waited with her bat slightly
raised. "Now," thought Edna "if I can only drop the ball just under that
bat, out goes the champion!" It was the third ball of the over, and St.
Cyprian's maintain that it was the swiftest Edna had ever been known to
bowl. Janet made a powerful stroke at it, apparently thinking it was a
half-volley. But Edna's aim was true. She had sent down a deadly
"yorker" which got under Janet's bat and spread-eagled her wicket.
"Well bowled! Well bowled!" shouted St. Cyprian's. "Why, she's done the
hat trick!" and for several minutes delight and excitement reigned
supreme.
"You shall choose it at Liberty's!" cried Joan, oblivious in her
enthusiasm of the depleted state of the club exchequer.
The next player was already taking her centre from the umpire before
order was restored. After this Templeton seemed to lose heart, their
batting quite collapsed, and the innings closed for seventy-nine, two of
the remaining three wickets falling to Joan, while Edna captured the
last by an amazingly swift full pitch.
The Templeton captain was not long in arranging her field, and Joan,
after some delay caused by a prolonged search for batting gloves, sent
in Kitty Fletcher and Clarice Mayfield to face the bowling of Janet
Armstrong at one end, Marjorie Rawlins herself taking the ball at the
other.
Things started none too well for St. Cyprian's. The bowling was
decidedly difficult. Marjorie Rawlins's slow overhand twisters needed
constant watching, while Janet Armstrong was evidently trying all she
knew to get her own back again. She was showing very fine form, and her
easy, graceful style and capital pace and length struck St. Cyprian's at
once with admiration and dread. Kitty and Clarice were both steady bats,
however, and faced the bowling with a courage which did them credit,
though runs came very slowly, and it was not until the third over that
Kitty managed to score a single off Janet. This brought Clarice to the
other end, and the first ball she received, a lovely bailer, proved too
much for her. Peggie Potter came in next, with instructions from Joan
to "stonewall everything" and wear the bowling down. These she
communicated to Kitty in a mysterious conclave between the wickets
before taking her centre, and both girls carried them out to the letter,
playing a very careful and cautious game for several overs.
Kitty was by this time beginning to bat with more confidence and
freedom, when, in playing back to an awkward ball from Marjorie Rawlins,
she managed to hit her own wicket. With two wickets down, the score
still under ten, and the bowling what it was, things looked rather black
for St. Cyprian's. The buzz of cheerful girlish chatter died down, and a
taciturn gloom took its place. Joan herself was going in next. Would she
and Peggie manage to make a stand and wear down this terrible bowling?
was the thought in each girl's mind as they saw her walk up to the
wicket, take her centre, and prepare to receive her first ball from
Marjorie Rawlins. It was on the off side, and slightly overpitched, and
Joan sent it straight to the boundary for three, amid rounds of applause
from her delighted supporters. Over was now called, and Joan faced the
bowling of Janet Armstrong. Having broken her duck, however, she was
breathing more freely, and soon found that the bowling, though good and
accurate, was by no means unplayable. After a few overs of careful play
she began to get her eye in, and with Peggie stonewalling with dogged
persistence at the other end, and now and then making a single, the
score crept up, at first gradually, and then more rapidly, till twenty,
thirty, and then forty appeared on the board. At this point a sad mishap
befell poor Peggie. She was getting so keen on backing up Joan's free
and frequent drives that she was tempted out of her ground before the
ball was actually delivered. Janet noticed this, and the next time it
occurred, instead of delivering the ball she turned round and put down
the wicket. Greatly disgusted with herself for having given her wicket
away in such a silly manner, Peggie walked back to the pavilion, where,
to her great relief, instead of the chaff and upbraiding she expected,
she received quite an ovation. For had not she and Joan made a great
stand at a critical point in the game, and saved a situation which might
easily have led to a complete collapse?
Edna Carson, who went in next, obviously meant to continue Peggie's
policy of keeping her end up and letting Joan do the scoring. She
stolidly blocked everything that came her way, to the great disgust of
Janet, who was evidently thirsting for her wicket, and was sending down
some astonishingly good balls. But with swift balls, even if only
blocked, you can often steal a run, and as the Templeton fielding was
not nearly so good as St. Cyprian's, Edna frequently managed to make a
single, and thus give Joan the opportunity of which she was not slow to
avail herself. Gradually the score increased until fifty went up amid
much rejoicing. At this point Edna, who had never seemed at her ease,
though she had been batting freely for nearly half an hour, gave Janet
her revenge by returning an easy catch. Grace Ashworth was the next bat,
but did not stay long, being clean bowled by Janet Armstrong; and a
similar fate befell Winifred Barbour, without adding to the score. Just
as Sophy Manners, the next player, was coming out of the pavilion, Joan
heard the neighbouring clock chime the first quarter. "A quarter-past
four," she thought complacently, but moving a few paces from the pitch,
she took a glance at the clock to make sure. To her horror and dismay
the hands pointed to a quarter-past five!
"Hit out for all you're worth!" she whispered to Sophy as she came up.
"Thirty to win, and only a quarter of an hour to make them in!"
Sophy, who was both bold and handy with the bat, and, as the girls all
declared, "simply had no nerves", was nothing loath to take this advice,
and for the next few minutes both she and Joan were scoring merrily.
Sixty for six--that did not look so bad; but only nine minutes remained,
and twenty runs were wanted to win. Joan glances uneasily at the clock,
and hits out harder than ever.
But the bowlers still keep a good length, and runs are coming more
slowly; for Joan knows that if either of the present wickets falls she
has no one left to rely upon in an emergency like this, so she plays
with more caution, only lashing out when opportunity offers. Seventy
goes up, with only four minutes left! Sophy gets one round to leg for
three, and a moment later has one to the boundary for four. Three runs
wanted to win, and Joan has the bowling. She sends one to the on for
two. Now for the winning hit, and only a minute to make it in! Marjorie
Rawlins artfully sends down the ball a trifle slower and shorter pitched
than before. St. Cyprian's hold their breath. A moment later they are
gasping in agony, for Joan has misjudged the ball, and up it goes like
a rocket between cover-point and bowler.
Both girls make a dash for it, but realizing the imminence of a
collision, each suddenly stops short, thinking it is the other's catch,
and the ball drops harmlessly between them, just as Joan arrives at the
other end with the run to her credit, and the match won for St.
Cyprian's by four wickets.
CHAPTER IX
The Students' Concert
The time was drawing very near now for Herr Hoffmann's Students'
Concert, and whenever Mildred thought about it her heart descended
somewhere into the region of her boots. The Professor had been giving
her lessons at his own house in addition to those she took at St.
Cyprian's, and with the one exception of the day of the cricket match,
she had attended every Saturday afternoon at the Philharmonic Hall to
practise the "Fruehlingslied" with the students' orchestra. For the first
time in her life she was really working hard, and sometimes she almost
astonished herself at the progress she made. Technical difficulties,
which before had seemed impossibilities, smoothed themselves away, and
her supple fingers began to acquire a new mastery over her instrument.
That she needed all her best efforts she knew well. The fear lest she
should fail in her piece haunted her like a bad dream. The Professor was
not easy to satisfy. His ideal was so high that she continually fell
short of it, and in spite of incessant practising and extra music
lessons, so hard seemed the task which she was attempting that she
sometimes felt inclined to fling down her violin in despair, and give up
the concert altogether.
The one thing that upheld her was the remembrance of the story of her
father's life which her aunt had told her. The unknown father, whom she
had lost when she was still only a baby, had left her his Stradivarius
as a legacy, with his dying injunction to make the good use of it which
he had once hoped to do himself. The violin was her one link with him.
Often now, when she practised it, she thought how his fingers had played
on it before, and what beautiful music they must have brought from it.
To respect his last wish seemed to her a solemn obligation. What he
could not accomplish himself he had charged her to perform, and it was a
trust which she must strive faithfully to fulfil. She felt as if her
success might compensate for his failure. The talent which he had
trifled with she must foster to the utmost of her power. The Comte's
secret (solved, alas, too late!) should be her watchword for the future.
Her father's neglected genius was like a debt left owing to the general
good of the world, and on her shoulders must fall the burden of paying
it.
Added to this was the knowledge that she had a duty to the uncle and
aunt who had already spent much on her music lessons, and to the college
where she was receiving her education. Her playing at this concert was
an important point for St. Cyprian's, and she must think not only of her
own personal successes, but of winning laurels for the school. She knew
that Miss Cartwright had been disappointed in the result of the
Eisteddfod, and this was a golden opportunity of upholding the
reputation which that festival had slightly undermined. St. Cyprian's
must show to all Kirkton that its special system of music culture was
of real value, and that its training could produce a pupil worthy of its
high aims. Yet the very thought of how much depended upon her efforts
brought its own penalty.
"I wonder if everybody else is as nervous as I am?" she said, as she
talked the matter over with her aunt. "I've heard all the other students
now, down at the Philharmonic. We took a full rehearsal last Saturday. I
don't believe Mr. Frith, who plays the 'cello, minds at all. He never
cares in the least when the Professor's angry, he simply laughs and
shrugs his shoulders. Miss Buchanan, the pianist, told me she couldn't
sleep at night for thinking about the concert. It means so much to her,
because she hopes to get pupils of her own by and by. The orchestra will
manage best. The audience won't notice if one of them plays a wrong
note, though Herr Hoffmann's sure to hear it, and scold afterwards. I
hope the room won't be very hot, or I know I shall break a string. If I
did, it would upset me so dreadfully, I don't believe I should be able
to go on, even if the Professor handed me his own violin instead."
"We'll hope you may have a better fate than that," returned Mrs. Graham.
"Your little Strad. doesn't often treat you so unkindly. It's generally
a most faithful servant."
"I'm glad I've such a splendid instrument," continued Mildred. "It makes
the most enormous difference to one's playing. When I try some of the
other students' violins, they sound like banjos. I believe the Professor
likes my 'Strad.' far better than his own Amati. He often catches it up
and plays on it, just out of sheer enjoyment. It is a beauty, with its
lovely old Cremona varnish, and the wonderful label inside: 'Antonius
Stradivarius Cremonensis fecit'. There's no mistake about its
genuineness. By the by, Tantie, do you know the Mayor and Mayoress are
coming to the concert? Isn't it terrible?"
"I don't think you need mind them very much. They're probably kindly
people who will have nothing but praise for all the performers. I should
be much more afraid of the newspaper critics, who really know the points
of good playing, and will judge you by a musician's standard."
"If only there could be no audience!" groaned Mildred. "It's the feeling
that everyone will be looking at me that's so dreadful. We rehearsed in
the Town Hall last Saturday, and I quite enjoyed playing to rows of
empty benches!"
"Try to forget that anybody is there. Just think of your piece, and
imagine you're playing it at school, or in Herr Hoffmann's study. It
will be time enough to remember the audience when people begin to clap.
Have you anything prepared for an encore?"
"I don't suppose I shall get one, but the Professor's making me practise
the D minor Polonaise, so that I could be ready. It's a bright little
thing, and not too long. Oh, how glad I shall be when it's all over! And
yet I don't want the day to come!"
The brief week left before the concert seemed to Mildred to run away
only too quickly. The date had been fixed for 16th July, for Herr
Hoffmann liked his recital to form a winding-up of his year of musical
tuition, which had commenced in September. It was probably as anxious a
time for him as for his quaking pupils, and he certainly spared no
trouble in coaching them for their performance, though he lost his
temper so often in the attempt that some of the students declared he
would never find it again.
At length the great day arrived. Mildred had had her final lesson from
her Professor, and a last word of encouragement from Miss Cartwright,
who, with many of St. Cyprian's teachers and music pupils, was to be at
the concert. Poor Mildred, who grew hourly more and more nervous, was
almost sick with apprehension as her aunt helped her to put on her white
evening dress before the long mirror in the spare bedroom, and tied the
wavy gold hair with a blue satin ribbon.
"Cheer up! You look like a little ghost!" said Mrs. Graham, pinching her
niece's pale cheeks. "It won't be half so bad as you expect. You make it
far worse by thinking too much about it. All the other performers are in
the same case as yourself. You'll have plenty of companions in
misfortune."
"I don't want to break down and disgrace you," said Mildred, gulping
back something in her throat that threatened to rise up and choke her.
"You won't do that. You've worked really hard, and if there's any truth
in the Comte's secret, I believe the Stradivarius knows it, and will
make you play well in spite of yourself. You've one great advantage over
the piano students, that you can bring your own instrument. Try to think
that though this is your first recital, your little violin is very well
accustomed to appear in public, and will feel so at home in the concert
hall that when you take the bow in your hand it will almost talk of its
own accord. It has been a long time in retirement, and to-night it's
anxious to show every one what it can do."
"I hope I shan't disappoint it!" said Mildred, laughing a little. "It's
rather hard on it to belong to a beginner, as it's accustomed to such
laurels. Tantie, I'm so glad you're sitting in the front row, so that I
know you're near me. I believe if I feel very bad, it will just help me
to see you there. I shan't think so much about other people if I can
look at your face."
The cab arriving at the door put an end to all further conversation.
Mrs. Graham wrapped Mildred in an evening cloak, Uncle Colin was ready
and waiting downstairs, and together they drove to the Town Hall.
"Good luck to you, lassie!" said Dr. Graham, kissing his trembling
little niece as he left her at the performers' entrance. "Don't you
worry yourself! You'll play quite well enough to please me, and a great
many other people besides. We don't expect a Paganini at fifteen. Do
your best, and you'll get through all right. Here comes Herr Hoffmann to
encourage you."
It was indeed the Professor himself, so resplendent in evening dress, so
bland and gracious, so overflowing with genial smiles and good humour,
that Mildred hardly knew him.
"Ach! you have got a fit of ze nerves!" he declared, leading his pupil
to a room at the back of the platform, where most of the students were
already assembled. "Take it not so to heart, lieb Kindlein! You will be
a good Maedchen, and play just as I have taught you. Frisch! Wohlan! Here
is a cup of coffee, very strong. Drink! It will give you courage.
Himmel! Did I not suffer myself like this once? But now it make me to
smile."
He patted her kindly on the shoulder as he handed her the cup of black
coffee. It was not nice, but Mildred felt better when she had swallowed
it, and, recovering her spirits a little, began to look round her, and
take some notice of her fellow performers. Some were anxiously tuning
their instruments, and some were chatting with affected carelessness. A
few of them she knew already, for she had spoken to them at the
orchestra rehearsals, and several came forward now to give her a word of
welcome. She was the youngest in the room. Most of the other students
were practised players, some of whom indeed were training for a musical
career. The Professor, anxious to keep up his deservedly high reputation
as a teacher, would allow none but his best pupils to appear at his
recitals.
"You get used to it in time," said one of the piano students, a tall,
pretty girl with chestnut hair, just out of her teens, who stood working
her fingers about as if to keep her joints supple. "I thought I should
have died at my first concert, and now I don't really care very much."
"I think a good audience is rather inspiring," said a violoncellist, a
self-conscious young fellow whose long waving hair and artistic necktie
proclaimed him a budding professional. "I can always play better from a
platform. A little applause seems to spur one on."
"Yes, if you get it," said another, nervously rubbing resin on his bow.
"That generally remains to be seen."
"I've never missed an encore at any concert I've played at," returned
the first confidently. "I shall be astonished if my Barcarolle is not a
success, though one can't expect much real musical appreciation from
town councillors and an ignorant public. I believe they'd applaud a
German band!"
"Not so ignorant as you seem to think," said a third student, coming up
to join the group. "I don't know any audience that can tell good music
from bad better than a Kirkton one. It needs your best work to give
satisfaction, and there's always a full and most intelligent criticism
in the _Herald_ next day."
"I suppose the old Professor's exploiting you," said the violoncellist,
turning to Mildred. "He isn't keen on juvenile prodigies as a rule. The
last he had was little Mathilde Zimmermann, and she did nothing after
all! Do you go out to 'At Homes'?"
"Oh, no!" replied Mildred. "This is the first concert I've ever played
at--except just at school. I don't want to now, only Herr Hoffmann says
I must."
"They aren't running her professionally, so she won't interfere with you
or your engagements," put in the piano student. "She's the Professor's
pet pupil at present, that's all. But if you don't wake up, she'll take
the shine out of you some day, so look to your laurels!" Then, speaking
to Mildred, she added kindly: "Don't mind him, dear! You'll find when
you begin to play in public that you'll meet with a good deal of
jealousy from other performers, but you mustn't let it worry you. The
music's the only thing to care about, and if one can interpret that, one
feels it's something to live for, in spite of all."
"Are you ready, ladies and gentlemen?" cried the Professor, entering in
a perfect whirlwind of excitement. "Ze hall is already full! It is ze
hour! Ze audience await us. Come, we commence!"
The first selection on the programme was an "Overture to Lucretius", and
as nearly all of the company were members of the students' orchestra,
Mildred found herself left alone with the few piano pupils. She had
often attended concerts, but so far had always been numbered among the
audience. This was her first peep behind the scenes, and it seemed
strange to listen to the music from the back of the platform. She could
hear the applause at the conclusion of the overture, and the duet for
violin and violoncello which followed.
"It will be my turn next," said her friend of the chestnut locks.
"There's one comfort in coming on early, you get it over,--though I
always find the audience cold at first. I suppose they think if they
call for encores too soon, they'll never get through the programme. I
see you're three-quarters down. That's the best place you could possibly
have, just when everyone has got enthusiastic, and before it's time to
begin and think about catching trains. You couldn't have been more
lucky. There's the last bar! Now for my ordeal! Good-bye!"
Sitting waiting with her violin in her hand, poor Mildred felt as if no
concert had ever dragged along so slowly. She wished she could take a
peep into the hall, and see where her uncle and aunt were sitting. That
the room was very full she knew from the remarks of the other students,
but so far the audience, though fairly appreciative, could hardly be
described as warm. Piece followed piece, then came the ten minutes'
interval; the second part of the programme commenced, and at length the
"Fruehlingslied" drew near. As the finale of the orchestral movement
which preceded it died away, Mildred took her violin, and summoning all
her courage went with a beating heart up the steep little staircase
which led to the platform. The Professor stood at the top, his broad
face beaming encouragement.
"So far it goes sehr gut," he announced. "No one have break down or
spoil anything. Remember, mein Kind, not to hurry ze time in ze legato
passage, and to wait in ze allegretto till ze 'cello begin."
He tested her Stradivarius himself to see that it was in tune with the
other instruments, then handed her between the rows of violin stands to
her place in front of the piano, and taking up his baton rapped smartly
on the conductor's desk, as a signal for the orchestra to be in
readiness. For the first time in her life Mildred found herself face to
face with a public audience. She stood there for a moment, such a
childish little figure in her white dress, with her golden hair falling
over her shoulders, and a frightened look in her dark eyes, that a wave
of sympathy seemed to pass through the hall, and a few people began to
clap. She started at the sound, and so great a panic of fear seized her
that she felt as though she could scarcely draw her breath; but at that
instant, looking down in front, she caught her aunt's eyes fixed upon
her with a hope and confidence in them which calmed her, notwithstanding
the knowledge that hundreds of listeners were waiting for her first
notes. Suddenly the remembrance of Mrs. Graham's words came back to
her--the Stradivarius had been in public before, and could make her
succeed in spite of herself. It was the bird of the "Fruehlingslied". She
had only to draw the bow, and it would surely sing.
"Are you ready? Now!" whispered the Professor. He waved his baton, and
the piece began.
Once the ice was broken, Mildred forgot the hall and the rows of people.
There was something inspiring in the subdued accompaniment of the
orchestra, her violin was like a living creature that thrilled under her
fingers, and so well did it respond to her touch that all the springtime
seemed to ring in the full, clear tones. She had got at the heart of the
musician's meaning, and those who listened felt that throb of pure
delight which comes to us sometimes with the sight of the dawn or the
early song of a thrush, that sense of freshness, of oneness with Nature
at her gladdest, that can raise our commonplace lives for the moment to
the level of the skies above.
It was an astounding performance for a girl of scarcely sixteen. The
piece not only demanded extreme facility of execution, but the maturest
thought and feeling, and to many it appeared incredible that so young a
player could have assimilated so much of the life and the mystery of
things as to enable her thus to interpret the mind of a great composer.
The audience seemed to hold its breath as the last crisp chord resounded
and died away; then it broke into a perfect storm of applause. There was
no mistaking the warmth of the reception, for instead of subsiding, the
clapping grew louder, and shouts of "Brava!" and "Encore!" echoed
through the hall. Suddenly realizing that she was the centre of all
eyes, Mildred made a frightened acknowledgment, and fled precipitately
to the staircase, to be brought back by her triumphant master, who,
taking her hand, led her once again to the front of the platform.
"Courage, mein Kind!" he whispered. "One little effort more! You will
not fail now? Ze encore!"
How Mildred played the "Polonaise" she never quite knew. She only
afterwards retained a confused remembrance of glaring light, a sea of
faces before her, and a sense that the notes came of themselves, urged
somehow from her fingers by the knowledge that they gave pleasure to her
hearers. It seemed a dream, a strange, bewildering unreality, an
exhilaration such as she had never before experienced, but which ended
in so great a revulsion of feeling that as she turned from the
applauding audience to leave the platform she could control herself no
longer, and, breaking down utterly, burst into tears.
"There, there!" said the Professor soothingly, patting the subdued
golden head; "it is finished now, and you are my very good pupil. Wait
in ze anteroom till I come, for I would speak to you after ze
performance."
"It was beautiful--beautiful!" cried the piano student, kissing Mildred
as she helped her down the staircase. "Don't cry, dear! It was worth the
effort. Such music is only granted to a few. Be thankful the talent is
yours, and that you are able to give it to the world. We, who are less
gifted, can only envy the future that lies before you."
The rest of the programme was soon finished, and the orchestra,
returning, crowded round Mildred to congratulate her on her success,
while some members of the audience, invited by Herr Hoffmann into the
anteroom, added kind words of approval and praise.
"Let us go, Tantie!" said Mildred, clinging to her aunt, who had come to
fetch her, and longing unspeakably for the quiet of home again; "I want
to get away from all this!"
"The cab's waiting, darling! We're going now," said Mrs. Graham, hastily
making Mildred's adieux and her own, and trying to edge her way through
the crowded room. A group of people talking together blocked their
progress at the door, and as they paused for a moment to find an
opportunity of passing, a lady sprang forward and shook Mildred warmly
by the hand, a lady whom she recognized at once as the stranger who had
spoken to her at Herr Hoffmann's on the day she had first visited his
house, and had waited so long for her music lesson.
"My dear, I am charmed! Your master ought indeed to be proud of you! I
should have known you the minute you came on to the platform, even
without your name on the programme. I am going to Westmorland to-morrow,
and I shall be sure to tell your uncle what a clever niece he has. Such
music would be enchanting in a drawing-room. I hope I may see you again
before long."
"Come, Mildred!" said her aunt, hurrying her away from the effusive
stranger. "Here is Herr Hoffmann waiting to say good-bye."
"Mein Freundchen!" cried the Professor, holding his pupil's little hand
in a bearlike grip, and relapsing into German in his excitement. "Is it
not worth while to have taken trouble? Ze exercises, ze scales, you did
not like them at ze time, but they are ze all-necessary foundation of
true art. To-night you have shown me that you can make progress. Go on!
There is much remaining to be done. Do not let one little applause cause
you to think that you can yet play. It is try each time a something more
difficult till you can master it, and some day you will thank ze old
Professor that he has made you work. Auf Wiedersehen!"
CHAPTER X
Changes
Mildred's signal success at the Students' Concert was a subject of much
congratulation to St. Cyprian's. Never before had a pupil at the College
made so public an appearance and obtained such an ovation. The newspaper
critics highly praised her playing, and several of the most prominent
musical people in the city, who had been present on the occasion,
congratulated Professor Hoffmann on the result of his teaching. Among
these was Mr. Steiniger, a German gentleman of great influence in
Kirkton, who was president both of the Freiburg Concerts and of the
College of Music, and whose opinion therefore was of considerable value.
To her schoolfellows Mildred's laurels amply compensated for the low
majority with which they had won the Alliance Eisteddfod. Many girls
from the other schools had been at the concert, and it was a great
satisfaction to feel that they had heard St. Cyprian's musical champion
in such favourable circumstances.
Mildred herself was experiencing that strong reaction which often
follows great effort. Now that her ordeal was over, she felt how severe
had been the strain of those weeks of unaccustomed hard work. She
flagged visibly, and her pale cheeks and listless manner drew comment at
home.
"No, I'm not ill really, Tantie," she replied to her aunt's enquiries.
"It's only that I'm tired of everything just at present. I think I want
a change."
And a change was coming to her--something so utterly unexpected and
unthought-of that if anyone could have told her of it beforehand she
would scarcely have believed it to be possible. It began with a
letter--an innocent, inoffensive-looking letter. She had brought it
herself to Dr. Graham, and had noticed the crest on the envelope, and
then thought no more about it than she had done of the many others which
were received daily at the house, and which did not concern her in the
least. That her uncle and aunt seemed to have many earnest conversations
together, which they broke off abruptly when she entered the room; that
they were even more affectionate to her than usual, and looked at her
sometimes with a kind of wistfulness in their eyes, did not strike her
particularly at the time, though she remembered it well afterwards; and
it was not until Mrs. Graham broached the subject one afternoon that she
had any idea of the strange new plans which were being discussed for her
future.
"There's something I wish to speak to you about, Mildred. It's a
question your uncle and I have been weighing very anxiously. I believe
we've looked at it from every side, and I trust and hope that we've come
to a right decision. I have told you before that your mother's father,
Sir John Lorraine, disowned her at her marriage. He never saw her
again; and although we wrote to tell him of her death and of your birth,
he took no notice, and made no enquiries about you afterwards. There was
no mention of you in his will, all his property being left to his son
Sir Darcy, who is the present owner of The Towers, as you know. Your
uncle and I adopted you from the very first, and we have never had any
communication with your mother's relations, who for nearly sixteen years
have given no sign that they wished to remember you. You can imagine,
then, our astonishment at receiving a letter from Sir Darcy Lorraine. It
contained what seemed to us a very startling offer, which at first we
thought it impossible to accept, until, after talking the matter over,
we think it ought at least to be considered. But before you can
understand me, I must read you the letter. It is dated from The Towers,
Castleford, and addressed to your uncle:
"DEAR SIR,
"There has recently been brought to my notice a sense of my
responsibility in regard to the upbringing of my late sister's
child, Mildred Lancaster. I find on enquiry that so far you have
undertaken her full guardianship, and have provided for her
entirely. As it seems only right that she should both know her
other relations and give them the opportunity of performing their
fair part in her education and maintenance, I now offer her a home
at The Towers, where she could share my daughter's studies, and
afterwards take that position in society which she would occupy as
my niece. Should you feel disposed to agree to this proposal I
should be ready to make arrangements to receive her without further
delay.
"I much regret that unfortunate family misunderstandings should
have caused this apparent neglect of one to whom I feel I owe a
duty, and I would endeavour to atone for past omissions by
affording her every advantage which is within my power.
"Trusting that our negotiations in this matter may prove of a
satisfactory character.
"I remain, dear sir,
"Faithfully yours,
"DARCY LORRAINE."
"He surely doesn't mean I should leave you and Uncle Colin and go and
live with him?" gasped Mildred incredulously.
"That's exactly what he proposes."
"But it's quite impossible!"
"Is it? Well, we'll talk about that later on. You don't want to leave
us?"
"Of course not! All the Sir Darcys and Lady Lorraines in the world
wouldn't make up! Tantie! How can you even speak of it?" said Mildred
reproachfully, getting up and flinging her arms round her aunt. Mrs.
Graham held her very close for a moment or two.
"You've been our little daughter for so many years that we could ill
spare you, sweetheart. What we think, however, is that you ought to go
there for the summer holidays at any rate. We wish you to pay them a
seven weeks' visit. Sir Darcy is your relation after all, just as much
as we are, and it's only fair that you should have an opportunity of
getting to know him and your aunt and cousin. Your uncle and I feel that
if, for our own selfish love of your company, we were to refuse to part
with you, you might some day justly reproach us for having kept you from
social advantages which we cannot give you. You are young, Mildred, and
have never known any place but Kirkton, and we think you ought to make a
trial of this other home before you finally choose between the two. It
has always been my dearest wish that you should study music; but if
after visiting Westmorland you find the life there is really more
congenial to you than our plain workaday existence here, we would not
allow the affection you feel for us to interfere in any way with your
prospects. You would be perfectly free to cast your lot with whichever
relations you believe could make you the happier. Do you quite
understand me? It's our very love for you that makes us willing to part
with you."
"I understand, but I don't want to go, all the same. I feel the
Lorraines have forgotten me so long that it's rather late suddenly to
remember my existence. You and Uncle Colin have been caring for me all
this time. Can't you say I won't go?"
"We've already arranged to send you. As it happens, it fits in most
curiously with an offer which arrived by the same post, inviting your
uncle to go out to Canada for the Medical Congress, as representative of
the Kirkton Public Health Association. He has not been well for some
time, and the voyage would do him good, while very fortunately Dr. Holt
would be able to look after both the practice and his appointments
until his return. He is most anxious that I should go with him, and as
the opportunity occurs for you to pay this visit while we are away, I
feel we might leave with a free mind."
"Tantie, I can't take it in! You and Uncle going to Canada!"
"Only for a six weeks' holiday. It is a great honour for your uncle to
be chosen to represent Kirkton at the Congress, and one he can hardly
refuse; while it seems such an excellent arrangement for you to spend
the time of our absence at The Towers that I feel we can't do better
than accept Sir Darcy's offer."
"What will the Professor say? He had decided that I might be allowed
three weeks' rest, and after that I was to go to his house for lessons
twice a week until school began again. He wouldn't hear of my spending
the whole of the holidays just practising by myself. He said I should
get into bad habits, and undo all the progress I had made lately. He was
most determined about it."
"That's the unfortunate part. I'm sorry beyond words for you to miss
your lessons, but, after all, a few weeks is not a very large slice out
of your life. You need a change for your health's sake, and if you
really decide that you wish to study music, you will be able to make up
for lost ground afterwards."
"The time will seem ages to me," declared Mildred. "I shall count every
day till I'm home again."
"You mustn't say that, dear. I want you to promise to try to like Sir
Darcy and Lady Lorraine. I think they are anxious to make up now for
having overlooked you so long, so don't be ungracious, or allow any
unforgiving remembrances about the past to creep in and spoil the good
feeling they seem willing to show to you. Just let bygones be bygones,
and be ready to make friends."
The change which awaited Mildred seemed an earthquake in her hitherto
uneventful life. The more she thought about it the less she liked it.
Although she was nearly sixteen she had never been away from home alone
before, and she shrank from the prospect of spending seven weeks with
those unknown relations. Naturally of a nervous and sensitive
disposition, she was shy with strangers, so what to many girls would
have appeared an attractive invitation, to her meant a species of exile.
"I don't know whether we're wise," said Dr. Graham to his wife. "The
child's fretting already. Can't we take her with us to Canada? Is it
really right, when we've brought her up so carefully, to be willing to
hand her over to those who probably have very different standards from
ours? She's just at an age when she will be led most easily. If she sees
social success and amusement put as the great aims of existence, will
she still hold to what we believe to be the higher ideal in life? I'm a
little afraid for her, I confess. One side of her disposition is so
ready to take the easier path and shirk difficulties that I feel as if
removing our influence were a throwing away of our responsibility."
"I don't think you need have any fears," replied Mrs. Graham. "This will
certainly be a great trial of Mildred's character, but I believe she'll
stand the test, and will come back to us infinitely more our own, if she
has chosen us voluntarily, than if she had never had the chance of a
different life. Surely some of the seed we have sown for fifteen years
must have taken root, and if we only have the patience to stand by and
wait, we shall see the harvest blossoming by and by."
It was decided that Mildred was to start for The Towers directly the
holidays commenced. There were many preparations to be made before her
departure--new clothes to be bought, and a selection made of articles
which she wished to take with her. Among other treasures she did not
forget to pack her diary.
"Dear little book, I wonder what I shall find to write in you?" she
said. "Tantie, don't you wish we could take a tiny peep into the future,
and see beforehand what's going to happen?"
"No, I think it's often better to have it hidden. I hope you will find
the next seven weeks pleasant ones, and whatever choice you make at the
end of them, you must always remember that your uncle and I have acted
for what we believe to be the best."
Mrs. Graham had acquainted Herr Hoffmann with the facts of the case, and
when Mildred went to say good-bye to her teacher, she found that he took
the parting badly.
"It is what you call 'hard luck'," he declared. "I have taught you all
these years, and to no other pupil have I given more attention and
trouble. I tell you even in Berlin Conservatoire no professor could have
laid you a better foundation in bowing. At one time you were idle. You
did not like to work. Then, just when you wake up, and begin to make
real progress, you leave me! And all my labour is for nothing! You say
you will come back, but that I cannot tell. I hear other relations want
to keep you. If you have any true love for your art, any desire to
master your instrument and to give your life to music, you will return.
Practise by yourself, but do not let anybody give you what they call
'lessons on ze violin'. Lessons! I am the only one who can teach you,
out of Germany! All others would spoil what you have already learnt. I
understand you go to a very great and rich house. I wish you well; yet
do not quite forget ze old Professor, and think too of the music, which
is a gift of Almighty God, more to be esteemed and held in honour than
gold or high name."
"I won't forget, I won't indeed!" cried Mildred, her eyes moist at the
Professor's emotion. "You know I love the music. I did like it all the
time, even when I slacked, except the scales and arpeggios. But I'll
practise even those to please you, and I'll work just as hard as you
want at everything--when I come back."
* * * * *
One morning at the beginning of August found Mildred ensconced in a
corner of a ladies' compartment in the northern express, steaming out of
Kirkton station on her journey to Westmorland. Her grief at parting from
her uncle and aunt had been keen, and at present she felt somewhat like
a small boat suddenly cut loose from its moorings, and drifting on a
swift current towards an unknown land. It is a great event in our lives
when we first leave the safe shelter of home, where constant familiarity
has made everything dear to us, and even our faults have been judged by
the tolerant standard of those who love us, to be plunged into a world
where we know we shall be taken at a different estimate, and where, to a
certain extent, that absolute reliance on another's judgment must give
way to a sense of duty and responsibility on our own account. Hitherto
Mrs. Graham had been Mildred's conscience, the one being in the world to
whom she could take each trouble and difficulty, and could lay bare
every part of her soul; and there had existed between the two that
entire confidence which is only possible with those who have known us
from our first years, and who also have that rare gift of absolute
sympathy which makes them able to understand our innermost mind.
We seldom question our earliest friends. They have grown dear to us long
before we are at an age to criticize them, our love afterwards blurs our
sight to what failings they possess, and consciously or unconsciously we
are apt to measure all others by their standard. Mildred felt that her
new relations, however kind they might prove, would never be the same as
those who had stood to her in the place of father and mother. This
separation must necessarily cast her on her own self-reliance; it was
the break between childhood and womanhood, the parting of the ways, when
she must loose the hand that had guided her so carefully, and take her
life into her own keeping. That it would be extremely good for her, Mrs.
Graham had no doubt. Mildred was so childish for her age, so dependent
and lacking in initiative, that it was time indeed she should begin to
think for herself, and gain greater confidence. She needed to be shaken
out of her dreamy ways, and given a wider knowledge of the world. Seven
weeks among entirely fresh surroundings would be a wholesome probation,
and at the end of the holiday she would be in a position to decide
whether the new or the old regime was the more congenial.
CHAPTER XI
The Towers
Mildred meantime was speeding northward, and once the wrench of parting
from home was over, she could not be altogether unattracted by the
novelty of the change in store for her, and the prospect of seeing fresh
places and faces. The dingy bricks and mortar of the town had given
place to green fields, woods, and streams, and these in their turn
yielded to bare moorland slopes, with stone walls instead of hedges,
till presently in the distance she could catch her first glimpse of the
hills, their grey peaks outlined against a pale-blue sky. The train ran
on for fully an hour more, between craggy heights and thickly-wooded
glens, the scenery growing in beauty with every mile, till at length the
engine plunged with a whistle into a long tunnel, and finally emerged at
the little station of Whiterigg.
"Here you are, Miss!" cried the guard, flinging open the carriage door,
and helping her out in a hurry. "Your luggage is at the end of the
platform. We're a bit late to-day. Right away!"
And waving his flag, he jumped into his van as it passed him, leaving
Mildred standing with her violin case in one hand and a bag in the
other, almost bewildered at this sudden termination of her journey. As
the retreating train rumbled away in the distance she heard the hoot of
a motor-horn, and a car came rapidly along the road and drew up at the
gate below. A tall, handsome man jumped out, and ran up the station
steps on to the platform.
"Why, here you are at last!" he cried, shaking hands heartily with
Mildred. "I'm glad you've found your way here safely. Is that your
luggage? We're sending a cart for it. These light things can go in with
us."
Mildred followed her new uncle shyly. His face was pleasant, and his
manner was kind as he helped her into the car. To her great relief,
after his first greeting was over, he did not trouble her with much
conversation, but left her to enjoy the scenery. The road wound up and
down in a gorge between two ranges of hills, sometimes passing through
woods, and sometimes crossing a noisy stream, overshadowed by brambles
and hazel bushes.
"That's Helvellyn!" said Sir Darcy, pointing to a tall peak so far off
that it was difficult to distinguish it from the cloud banks in the sky.
"It's not often we can see it from here, there's generally a mist
rolling over; but when we do, it foretells fine weather. That stream
marks the boundary of the property. As soon as we enter the wood we
shall be out of Whiterigg and in Castleford, and in a few minutes you'll
get your first peep of the lake."
They had at last reached the end of the valley, and, rounding the spur
of the hill, went through a thick pine wood, where the tall red stems of
the trees stood upright as the masts of a ship. Then, climbing a short
incline, they came into an open road above, from which there suddenly
burst upon Mildred's eyes such a view as she had never hitherto even
imagined. Below her lay the lake, an outstretched shining mass of
shimmering brigh
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